


Touch The Sky

by canis_lupus



Category: Star Trek (Comics), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Klingons, M/M, Multi, New Vulcan, Other, Pirates, Starbase 17, Tarsus IV, Tentacle sex (mentions of), Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-09-18
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1268491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canis_lupus/pseuds/canis_lupus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The theory is that an alternate reality may diverge from every and any point in time, any decision made or unmade. This is one of those. This is the one where Jim Kirk walks a wilder world. These are not the voyages of the Starship Enterprise- but some things are constant, and Jim Kirk will never be an ordinary man, and neither will the lives of those he touches be ordinary. (AU after the destruction of the <i>Kelvin</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: work in progress, and while I'm having a hell of a lot of fun writing it, it will be updated irregularly. Also, I will be adding and expanding on the tags as the story develops, to avoid spoilers and because I simply don't know what all is needed yet. This work is unbetaed, too, so please point out any mistakes you come across, grammar, spelling, canon, anything.

**2237-2251**

Jim Kirk's childhood was a happy one. 

He was only four years old when they left Terra, and he had no memories of it and so, no sense of loss. Tarsus IV was his home. He grew up under its skies, grew strong on its double g gravity. He worked in the gardens like everyone else, helped to push their radius of fertile soil out further and further, collected samples and ran errants, learned about plants and oxygen, water cycles and solar power, building houses and maintaining the communications arrays and all the other everyday concerns of their small agricultural backwater colony. They only produced a little surplus for trading, and not many ships stopped by regularly.

But Jim loved it with all the simplicity of a child. He climbed the apple trees in their yard and raced their horses with his brother, and stared up at the stars at night.

His mother told him about the stars. She told him about his father, about how he had saved her and baby Jim, who had only just taken his first breath, only just given his first cry in the moment of his father's death, out there in space, so far away from everything that was Jim's world that it was like a fairy tale. 

Jim loved his mum, too. She wasn't like other mums. She couldn't really cook all that well, and she never baked anything, not like the mums of the other kids in school. She didn't wear pretty clothes. She wore sturdy boots and pants and a leather jacket, and they were usually stained with dust or dirt, scuffed from hard use. Her hands were rough with callouses that caught on Jim's hair when she ruffled it, and sometimes she was gone for days to work and he and Sam had to make their own food and put themselves to bed. But that was okay, because Jim knew that she was working hard with the other scientists to learn new things about their planet, to help make everyone's life better. 

She and the men she was friends with also taught him and Sam how to fight, and how to shoot phasers and disruptors and old-fashioned projectile weapons. She said they were growing up in a hard world, and they needed to be prepared. 

Sometimes, she was sad. One of Jim's first memories was of her sitting at the kitchen table, face turned away from him, shoulders shaking. Jim remembered walking up to her, tentatively, a little scared, and asking her why she was sad. He remembered how she turned to him with her cheeks wet, and framed his face in her dry, rough hands. 

“You remind me of your father,” she told him, “you remind me so much of him sometimes, and that makes me sad. But you're a good boy, Jimmy,” she said fiercely and pulled him into a hug, “you're a good boy.”

She wasn't like other mums, his mum, but he wouldn't change that for the world. She was his friend, and he _adored_ her. When he got into a fight at school one time, his teacher called her to pick him up. His teacher was also a mum, and very upset that Jim had broken the other boy's nose. Jim was sulky and felt the whole thing was horribly unfair. It wasn't like Lars hadn't started the whole thing. His mum listened to the teacher's story (which totally downplayed how it was Lars' own stupid fault!) and then she took him home and listened to his side of the story. At the end of it, she told him sternly that punching other kids in the nose wasn't really the best way to “resolve a conflict”. And after Jim had mulishly nodded his understanding, she'd suddenly smiled and winked at him and complimented him on a good punch and said she understood why he'd done it, even if he shouldn't make a habit of it. That was his mum. She was _awesome_.

Jim loved his brother, too, though they didn't always have much in common. Sam was the quiet one, bookish and serious. He didn't love the fighting lessons like Jim did, wasn't enthusiastic about weapons. He didn't jump his horse across a ravine just to see whether he could. He didn't dream about the stars. “The only one with any common sense in this family,” their mum said of him, and Jim loved them both fiercely. 

Their mum told them of the Federation. Tarsus IV was far away from any place important, and that was why she'd taken them all there when Jim was still very little. Because she had recognised the danger. George Kirk had saved their lives, but he had only bought a little time with his death. He couldn't destroy that huge ship that had come out of nowhere, that black nightmare that was the size of a small moon. He couldn't defeat Nero, the man who killed him, the man who destroyed Vulcan only a few short months after Jim's father had dashed the _Kelvin_ to pieces against his ship. And Winona Kirk had followed the news, had talked with her friends in StarFleet, recognised the danger, and had removed herself and her children from Terra before humanity's homeworld, their entire solar system, was devoured by one of Nero's black holes as well. Jim didn't remember Earth, but his mum and Sam did. Thinking of what they'd lost always made them so sad, Jim was kind of glad he didn't remember. And he only had to imagine how he'd feel if Nero destroyed Tarsus IV. He hoped Nero never would. 

Because he was still out there, the man who killed Jim's father. He was still prowling the skies like a wolf in his monstrous ship. Nero was still there, but the Federation was gone. It was war in the galaxy, Winona taught her sons. The beautiful Federation starships stood no chance against Nero's _Narada_ , and with two founding members gone, the Federation collapsed. Most colonies were on their own, the alliances between former member worlds shifting and unstable. People still spoke Standard and traded in Federation Credits, but there was no unified government anymore, and there was no StarFleet. What had supposed to have been a golden age of progress and civilisation had ended almost before it began.

Jim sat at his mother's feet and listened when she talked about the wise Vulcans with their logic, and about exploration among the stars, and infinite diversity in infinite combinations, and he ached for what had been lost. He ached for the stars.

Jim Kirk's childhood passed in a blur of warm summers and cold winters that felt eternal as he lived it. It was full of school and work and play, routines and adventures, friends and family. His skin was permanently tanned, his hair bleached by the sun, his small hands almost as rough and calloused as his mum's. 

Of course, like all children, he and his brother and their friends grew up, grew into teenagers as other children succeeded them. By the time he was thirteen, Jim was wild and bold and charming. It was still new, new and exciting, this new dimension to his world, but he had a brother who was four years older than he was, thank you very much, and so he knew all about sex. That was what he told his mum with a roll of his eyes when she tried to give him The Talk. He was twelve. Winona Kirk blinked in surprise, then laughed, ruffled his hair (“MUM!”) and told him to tell her if he found out he had any questions, after all. 

By the time he was thirteen, Jim had kissed two girls and one boy, and he'd discovered flirting. People _liked_ him, he found. People liked to look at him, too. And he could make them laugh, even if he'd done something reckless and fun that he wasn't supposed to do, and they wanted to be angry at him. 

By the time he was thirteen, Jim Kirk was infamous as a troublemaker in the small colony of Tarsus IV, too smart and pretty by half for his own good, and he knew it, too, the brat. Still, he was a good kid, they said to each other, his heart was in the right place, and people rolled their eyes in fond exasperation. 

Sam was eighteen, gentle and studious. He was working at the laboratory, had decided to focus on biology two years before, and had already helped combat a fungus that could've thrown the entire colony in dire straits if they hadn't caught it early on, thanks in part to Sam Kirk's careful, exacting observation of his surroundings. He was the one who'd noticed something odd about their seed grain, tiny little black speckles that shouldn't be there. God only knew what would've happened if they'd sowed out that grain, infected the soil with that fungus. Lab testing showed a frightening propensity for infecting the mycorrhizae, that beneficial, life-enhancing web of benevolent fungi linking plants in undisturbed soil, and through it, the plants. 

Instead, they burned one store house full of grain, were a bit short on cereals and their products for a year, and counted themselves lucky. Of course, they were still researching where this fungus had come from, and Sam and Winona Kirk were members of that team at the laboratory. 

Sam Kirk was eighteen, and recently engaged to Sally Aomori, who he'd been dating for the last two years. 

That was when the ship came, and Jim Kirk's childhood ended.

~***~

It was a beautiful, mild evening in early summer, and the Kirk brothers and most of their friends were having a party. They were in the fields just outside of town, the scent of new grass sweet in air. They had a bonfire, and alcohol nicked from the stores that they shouldn't strictly have. There was a reason Jim Kirk was invited to these parties even though he was the youngest there. Of course, they all knew each other, they'd all grown up together and had all gone to school in the same building together, and the older kids, young adults now, were used to Sam's little brother tagging along. Still, it helped Jim's reputation that he'd come bearing gifts. It was one thing to be tolerated by the older kids, and quite another to be welcomed with shouts and hoots of glee.

They drank and raced their horses and made music and danced as night fell and the sky above them lit up with familiar stars. Jim was lying on his back in the sweet soft grass, staring up, up into that endless expanse of pinpoint lights when he felt a shiver run down his back. He sat up, rubbed his arms, looked around. Everyone was having fun, Sam was over there by the fire, plucking chords on his guitar. Jim could feel the heat from the flames on his face from where he sat. He rubbed his arms again, looked around. He had an odd feeling of apprehension, almost fear, and that made no sense. He was almost never afraid, and certainly not when he was surrounded by his friends, and the lights of the town were just over there, almost in shouting distance. He took a quick swig from his bottle, but it was no good, even the burn of alcohol couldn't dispel his unease. 

He got up, made his way over to Sam. 

“Hey. You wanna call it a night, go home?” Jim asked, tried to sound nonchalant. 

Sam shook his head, smiled. “I'm having fun, Jimmy. Don't tell me _you_ wanna go home early?” His eyes flicked to the bottle in Jim's hand. “Had too much to drink, kiddo?”

Jim shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.” Maybe he had. Maybe that was why his stomach was clenching and he had something that tasted suspiciously like panic clawing at the back of his throat. “C'mon, Sam, let's go home, I don't feel good.”

Sam sighed, looked up at him with earnest eyes, then at his guitar. 

“Aw, come on, Sam,” Li Wei said. “Let the midget make his own way home if he wants to. He's standing, he can't be that bad off.”

“Yeah! You spend too much time shut up in the lab, anyway. Play another song! Have some fun!” Richard agreed. 

Jim did feel bad for asking, because Richard, Sam's best friend since forever, was right. Sam was far too prone to shut himself up in some stuffy lab or office, as far as Jim was concerned. He was _eighteen_ , for crying out loud! Most of the time, he acted like he was forty.

“Yeah, no, okay,” Jim said. “Rick's right, you have fun.” It was a struggle to get the words out. They felt like the biggest mistake of his life, but there was no rational reason why they should. Everything was _fine_ , Jim had no idea where this _feeling_ came from. He was probably just imagining it. So he tried a brave smile and took another sip from his bottle and wandered away. He hesitated, torn between unreasonable urgency and the thought that he was making an utter fool out of himself. 

He decided to go check on the horses. At least that was... productive.

He followed the sound of ripping grass and chewing teeth and the occasional snort away from the fire. The horses had spread out in a loose group, noses buried in the grass. It took a moment before Jim's eyes adjusted and he could make out their large, dark shapes. He walked between them, stroked a flank here and patted a rump there, until he reached Shooting Star, his tough, lean little mare. He checked the rope hobbling her front feet and she stuck her nose in his hair, snorted warm breath down his neck. Jim laughed. He patted her neck, leaned against her shoulder as she went back to grazing. 

She nearly hit him in the chin as she suddenly jerked her head up. The anxiety in Jim's gut coiled and twisted, and he turned to see what had alerted her. 

The shuttles seemed to come out of nowhere, fell from the sky. Figures jumped out of open hatches just when the first people were turning. They were tall, dark-skinned... armed. The music faltered as the first red bolts flew, felled Jim's friends. For a moment, he was frozen to the spot, unable to believe what he was seeing, fear rushing through him like a flood. Then he turned, tugged the ropes from Star's feet, quick, yes, practised, not too rough, he didn't want to startle her. He leapt onto her bare back, broad and warm. She was scared, he could feel her reluctance, but she broke into a trot towards the fire when he kept urging her with the press of his legs. 

He wasn't even halfway there when he saw Sam take a bolt of energy in the face, collapse like a puppet with its strings cut. Li Wei was running away, but didn't get farther than a few steps. Rick had turned when Sam fell, and then he was down, too. The attackers' skin was green in the firelight, and they were already dragging the first bodies into the shuttles. 

Orions, Jim realized. The others weren't dead, just stunned, and the Orions were taking them. And he had no weapon, no protection. There wasn't anything he could do here. He had to get help. 

He whirled Star around, and she was only too happy to break into a gallop at his urging. Jim clung to her mane and her slippery, glossy coat. A shout rose behind him, and a red bolt of energy sizzled past his ear. Star shied to the side, almost threw him off, but Jim pushed her on. The town wasn't far away, they could reach it in just a few minutes. More red light flew by him, and Star snorted in fear. 

And then Jim felt an ice-cold, electrical lick against his shoulder. The world swam, the lights of the town danced drunkenly in front of him. He couldn't feel the bite of Star's mane twisted around his fingers anymore, couldn't feel her big, solid warm body between his legs. He couldn't feel his hands or legs at all. He fought it, fought the darker darkness that was eating away at his vision. He felt like he was falling, clumsily tried to shield himself with arms that were numb and heavy. There was a short, bright flare of pain, and then the world went away.

~***~

“Jim? Jim! _Jim_!”

Someone was shaking his shoulder, calling him, and Jim fought his way up out of the darkness. 

He _hurt_. 

“Jim, baby, can you hear me?”

Jim made a weak, croaky little sound, and forced his eyes open. There was grass, one side of his face pressed to the ground. Dew sparkled on the green blades in front of his eyes in the morning light, and he could smell the wet earth. He was cold, but there was a warm hand on his shoulder. He turned his head a little (hurt!) and there was his mum, crouched in the grass in front of him. 

“Come here, baby, careful now...”

His mum's hands steadied him, helped him sit up. He moved his left arm, and tears sprang to his eyes at the pain. He looked down at his arm, to find it bruised and swollen a few inches above his wrist, the angle of his hand to his elbow not what it should be. 

“Oh, yes, that's broken,” his mother said soothingly. Jim let her wrap an arm around his shoulders. His mum was here. Everything was going to be okay now. 

That was when the events of the night before came flooding back. He looked around wildly, which made his aching head swim, but he ignored it. There, behind the scattered horses, were the charred remains of the fire. Just that, and nothing else. 

The sun was just peaking over the mountain tops in the distance, the birds were calling in the woods and hedges. It was morning. 

“Sam!” he choked out, turned to his mother, frantically clutched at her jacket with his good hand. “They took Sam, Mum, they took Sam and everyone else!”

“Who?” his mum asked sharply. “Who took Sam? What happened, Jim?”

“ _Orions!_ ” Jim sobbed. “There were Orions, they came in two shuttles, and, and, they stunned everyone and took them to the shuttles! I, I, I was with the horses, and I took Star and tried to ride over there, but I didn't have anything, not anything, and, and, so I wanted to get help, but they shot me, I think they shot me, and I tried to fight it, Mum, really I did, but... but... I'm sorry!” 

His tears choked him then, and his mum pressed him against her chest, against the old, scarred leather of her jacket, while he sobbed out how sorry he was. 

After that, he only remembered bits and pieces. Sitting in the hospital while his arm was treated. His mum talking to the other parents, stricken faces and tears. Telling his story again, numb now, feeling as if it was someone else talking all together. Listening as the adults confirmed that there had been a ship in orbit, hiding in the sensor shadow on the other side of the planet, the wild side where there were no settlements yet. Seeing the desolation in their faces as they talked about how their scanning equipment was too old, how they had no defences against orbital ships, and how they had no means to get any. 

They went home eventually, Jim and his mum, and Jim fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

~***~

When Jim was thirteen, he watched his brother get taken away. And the shock wore off and his broken arm healed, and something fierce and implacable woke in him. It wasn't rage, though that was part of it, because it was deeper, steadier than that. It wasn't determination, because it wasn't as tame as that. It was something else, something hot like anger and dark like violence and cold like patience and hard like adulthood.

Jim was going to go into space. Jim was going to get his brother back. 

He wasn't a fool. He knew space was impossibly large, he knew it might take a long time to find his brother, and he knew that by the time he did, Sam wouldn't be the man he remembered, if he was alive at all. Orions took people for one of two things: as soldiers in their mercenary armies, or as slaves. Both were horrible, both would break his kind, gentle brother. 

Jim acknowledged this, and moved on. It didn't matter. Or, it did, but it didn't change anything. Jim was going to find his brother. 

So while the colony mourned and discussed consequences, while Sally cried and his mum drank too much, Jim turned on his computer and accessed the colony's data base and started reading, studying. 

He'd always _wanted_ to go into space. Someday, at some point in a vague future, he'd thought, he was going to leave Tarsus IV and meet the rest of the galaxy. 

Now he was going to go into space. He was going to sign up with the next ship that stopped by Tarsus. Considering how remote Tarsus was, that meant he had probably about a year to get ready, give or take. In that time, he needed to learn enough to be so useful the captain was willing to take a teenager along. 

He told his mum, told her he was going to go and find Sam. At first, she was horrified, of course. Jim understood: she'd just lost one son, and now the other told her he was leaving. So it was okay that she yelled at him and pleaded with him and hugged him tight. He kept studying, absorbing all the knowledge he could get his hands on. He worked every job he could find that had to do with mechanics or propulsion systems or computers, or anything else remotely useful on a spaceship. He read manuals under the desk in school. He studied, he worked, he ate, he slept. He didn't go to any more parties, he hardly saw his friends. He didn't have the time. Soon the other kids were making uncomfortable jokes about how he'd suddenly decided to step into his brother's footsteps. Jim made some non-committal noise and kept reading up on warp core technology or StarFleet procedure or astrogation. 

After three weeks of one-sided arguments, his mother gave up. Jim knew she hoped it was his way of coping, that he'd realize how unrealistic his plan was and that he'd grow out of it. 

Maybe it was his way of coping, Jim couldn't tell. But the thing was, he _knew_ his plan was unrealistic, and he was going to do it anyway. It wasn't even really a choice. Jim just couldn't do anything else, anything less.

After three months, Jim was still devouring every bit of knowledge he could lay his hands on. One evening, his mother stepped into his room, leaned one shoulder against the door frame, arms and legs crossed. Jim looked up from the parts strewn across his desk, where he was building a personal communicator. 

“You're serious,” his mum said. 

Jim held her eyes. “Yes.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Let me make some calls. I still have a friend or two out there, and if you insist on going into space, for God's sake, please at least do it with someone I know you can trust.”

Jim nodded. “Yeah, okay. As long as it doesn't take them five years to get here.”

His mum nodded. “I'll tell you as soon as I know anything.”

~***~

Ten months later, she introduced him to Captain Christopher Pike. Pike had been StarFleet, back when it still existed. Now he was a free-lance cargo runner, like many captains who had their own ships. His was a sleek Andorian cruiser called the _Endeavour_. She wasn't a new ship, but sturdy and reliable.

When he was fourteen, Jim left his home on Tarsus IV. His mother left with him, because, as she said, she'd moved there for her children. Without them, she had no reason to stay. If they ever came back they could have their farm back, their friends and neighbours had assured them, but for the time being, there were no more Kirks on Jim's home planet.


	2. Chapter 2

**2231-2242**

S'chn T'gai Spock remembered both Vulcan and Terra. He had been two when Vulcan was destroyed and six when Nero went after the Sol System. Both times, his family had not been present at the destruction because they were on a diplomatic mission with his father. Given, the likelihood of this event was not too outrageously low since the critical state of the Federation kept the diplomats busy. Still, Spock was inclined to agree with his mother and title this “good luck”. 

After the loss of Terra and the subsequent collapse of the Federation, Spock's family moved to the young colony on New Vulcan. A different life started here for Spock. As a diplomat's son, he had never spent so much time in one place. It was not logical, but he found he missed the travelling. It had afforded him an escape from the company of his overly critical peers. It had also brought him in contact, however faint, with other cultures, other modes of being and thinking. Spock was a curious child and he found the environs at the New Vulcan colony... stifling. However, what was, was.

Throughout his childhood he was aware of a certain sense of isolation. He was not like others. He was unique. It was often a challenge. 

Mostly, though, his childhood on New Vulcan was not significantly different from that of his peers. He did not excel in emotional control, but he did deliver results far above average in the scientific fields. 

Spock meditated on this. He arrived at the conclusion that it was only logical. Natural aptitude in every imaginable area varied greatly across populations. This was a fact of genetic diversity. Genetic diversity was a core quality to a population's evolutionary stability. Therefore, it was in no way a personal failing that he did not show excellence in every field. To expect as much would be illogical. He decided the most logical course of action would be to aim for adequacy in emotional control, and to expend his time and energy on furthering his strengths. His parents and his teachers did not find fault with his logic. 

Spock studied the teachings of Surak and those of subsequent philosophers. He studied pre-Reformation Vulcan history. He studied biology and physics and chemistry. He took part in the physical exercises. There was much to learn, and if he derived a small degree of emotional satisfaction from engaging in new subjects, he tried to keep it to a minimum. 

New Vulcan shared many characteristics with the planet his paternal species had evolved on. It was foremost a desert planet, the air thin through a lack of extensive oxygen-producing ecosystems. It's gravity was similar, too, higher than that of Terra. The plant and animal life was, of course, different, but many species filled ecological niches similar to those of Vulcan. There was discussion on whether or not to introduce some of the Vulcan species which had been preserved in one way or another, but most members of the deciding board considered the risks to the native ecosystem too high. The native species had as much right to exist as those of Vulcan, logically. Therefore, the Vulcan species would be cultivated in special gardens on other worlds, worlds where they could not spread in the wild and become invasive. 

Recent history was not on Spock's curriculum until he was thirteen. Before he could reach that stage in his studies, history caught up with them. 

It was a cold, dry winter morning when the colony was attacked by three Romulan birds-of-prey. The ships descended out of a pale blue sky and immediately opened fire. The first attack took out the communications centre. On the next pass, ground troops transported into the streets. 

Spock had accompanied his mother to the market and saw it all. The intruders were muscular, tattooed, armed. They started to round people up. A distinguished Vulcan in rich robes spoke to one of the attackers, and the attacker lashed out, send the man crumbling to the ground. Spock knew his eyes were wide, were betraying his emotion, but he had never witnessed such violence. This must be what it had looked like when he had lost control as a child: raw, ugly. To see such behaviour in an adult was even more disturbing. 

The ships flew by again overhead, fired on the council building this time. More troops appeared around the plaza. 

His mother gripped his shoulder, hitched up her robe and started to run. Spock followed. It was the logical thing to do. The other people attending market came to the same conclusion. The Romulans opened fire. Market stalls broke down, caught fire. The air filled with smoke and dust from the surrounding buildings. Spock saw a Romulan soldier grab the dress of a Vulcan woman, yank her to the ground roughly. Then he shot her. Spock could not tell whether she was dead or stunned. 

His mother was breathing heavily, and he slowed to match her stride, looked up at her. 

“No,” she gasped, shook her head. “Run, Spock, run as fast as you can.”

He hesitated. She was his _mother_. 

“Go!” Emotion was stark all over her face, her eyes wide, her skin flushed and wet with perspiration. She had never looked more human, more fragile. But there was also determination. “Run, son!”

It hurt in an oddly physical way to turn his back and sprint ahead. It was emotional pain, he knew, but he could not name what emotion it was. 

Behind the market, behind the clouds of dust, was the open desert. A shot hit the ground next to him and he swerved, started ducking back and forth by instinct more than rationale as more shots zipped by him. 

He was being shot at. Fear rose, drowned reason, narrowed his focus to his feet and the ground and the empty expanse of sand before him. 

There were harsh shouts in Romulan behind him. He thought to hear a word that almost sounded like “child” in Vulcan, but he could not analyse the information at the moment. 

He cleared the market, paving stones turned into fine, hard, yellow sand. He ran. He ran as far and as fast as he could, and when he dared to look back, he could see the birds-of-prey stoop down over the ruined city like actual raptors over a carcass. Black shadows were moving in the clouds wreathing the feet of the buildings. Spock could not tell whether they were pursuers, so he turned around and ran on. 

He changed his pace to a trot soon, a steady pace he could maintain while the sun burned down on him, climbing high and higher. Shadows crossed in front of it occasionally, and Spock would look up, see the silhouette of a ship, and keep up his trot out into the desert. 

It was late afternoon by the time he came across a rock formation. It rose out of the softly undulating sand plain, with slopes of gravel and a head of wind-worn bed rock. Spock went to investigate. He found an accessible route to climb to the top. This afforded him a good look around. 

The desert lay empty around him. There was no sign of pursuit, and Spock finally noticed how exhausted he was. His body required rest. 

He climbed back down off the rocks and found a spot where an overhang created a small pool of shade. Spock curled up in it, his back to the reassuringly solid stone, and fell asleep.

~***~

It was dark when he woke, dark and cold. The stars flared brightly overhead, lent a little light to the desert. Spock was hungry and very thirsty. This was a problem.

He moved out of his shelter and walked around the rock formation, fingertips along the stone. As expected, he found the side where the evening sun had heated the rock, and he sat down with his back against it. It was not much, but it was at least a marginal source of heat. He sat down, side pressed against the rough, warm surface, pulled his knees towards his chest to minimize the surface area in contact with the cold night air, and allowed his metabolism to slow. Heartbeat, breathing, all of it settled into a slower rhythm, helped him preserve precious heat and energy. He imagined the capillaries in his skin contract, reduce blood flow near the surfaces of his body, reduce the temperature differential between him and the night air. It meant his thoughts also slowed as he entered a light trance state. He was not in any hurry, however, so that was an acceptable exchange. 

Almost dreamily, he considered his situation. 

He needed water, food and shelter. He did not know whether it would be feasible to return to the city. He did not know what fate his parents had suffered. He did not know what the goal of the Romulan aggression was. 

He was eleven years old and potentially alone. He was a member of a species adapted to the local climatic conditions, at least mostly. He had knowledge of the local resources. 

He estimated his chances for survival reasonable, provided he could locate a reliable water source. His chances would be better, however, if he had a group to cooperate with. 

By the time the sun rose over the horizon, he had decided on a course of action. First, he would attempt to locate water, then nourishment. Afterwards, or if that failed, he would return to the city to establish the status of the Romulan movements. Without that information, he could not make any useful long-term plans. 

Shortly before noon, he was successful: He found a little valley, barely more than a dip in the land, but in its shelter grew a group of straggly little bushes. They didn't even come up to his knees, their leaves were hard, waxy and toothed and they had thorns the size of his little finger. They scratched his hands and arms as he dug up one tough, stubborn root. A hand span under the ground, the root had a fist sized bulb. Spock hacked it off with a sharp stone he'd found at the rocks. The outside of the bulb was tough, leathery, but the inside revealed spongy, moist white flesh. Spock bit deep and sucked out the water. It tasted sour and tangy, but he knew this part of the plant wasn't poisonous. Once he'd sated the worst of his thirst, he carefully pushed the sand back over the roots of the plant, even if this earned him a few more scratches. 

Then he took his stone and his piece of plant root and returned to the rock before the sun reached its zenith. He waited out the worst of the midday heat while he sucked the very last bit of fluid out of the plant. In the afternoon, he went in search of food. Unfortunately, he was unsuccessful. Therefore, he moved on to the next stage of his plan. 

The next morning, he went straight to the water plants and was on his way back to the city no more than thirty minutes after sunrise. 

He reached the city in the afternoon. Its skyline rose above the shimmer of hot air in broken ridges. Spock approached it cautiously. 

It turned out he need not have to. The city was empty, empty and silent. All the important structures were thoroughly destroyed. He walked through the rubble-strewn streets. He entered an empty house and tried the computer, but there was no power. He pulled up a bucket of water from one of the public wells, drilled into the freshwater underground lake the city had been built on top of. He recoiled as he got the first sniff of the water. It was fouled. He did not know whether it was deliberate or not, but no one could drink this. 

He went home, only to find the house gone, nothing but a pile of rubble. 

There was nothing here for him. Nothing, and no one. 

Spock bit his lip, felt the tremble of emotion in his chest. He took measured breaths, recited a mantra to calm himself, and turned his mind to planning his survival. 

He could try to reach the other settlement, but it was a long way, there was no overland road, all the flying vehicles seemed to be gone, and he did not even know where precisely it was located– or whether the Romulans had spared it. They had disabled communications. Possibly this indicated that they planned to attack the other settlement, too. 

In the end, he decided that the risk was too high in comparison to the likelihood of success. 

He could not stay here. While the city offered more shelter and more resources than the desert, there was no drinkable water, and that was his single most pressing need. 

No, the safest course of action right now was to return to terrain he already knew, terrain that offered enough water for his immediate needs. 

He walked back to the city's limits, scavenging from any half-way intact house he found as he went. He took a bag, a warm blanket, a change of clothes, two kitchen knives and a whetstone. He also found a tarpaulin, strong and light-weight, and a length of rope. Most things that would make his life easier were of an electronic nature and therefore worthless without access to power. But he was confident. He had survived his kahs-wan two years ago, on this very planet. He, like all Vulcan children, had been taught how to survive without the comforts of modern life. It was only logical. Numerous situations could arise where such knowledge was imperative– situations just like the one he found himself in. Spock added a light-weight pot and cooking spoon to his equipment as well as a curved shard of glass from a broken bottle. It would make an adequate focus for sunlight to light a fire, if he should find enough material to burn. He also found a light, sturdy metal chest. It was a little unwieldy, but it would give him the opportunity to store his possessions safe from the wind and the abrasive sand. That outweighed the awkwardness of transporting it. He put everything he had collected so far inside, wrapped the rope around it and fashioned loops he could use to carry the chest on his back. Of course, he also packed what durable food he found. He calculated it would be enough to see him through the first sixteen days of his new existence. When he reached the city limits, his possessions had taken on enough weight to force him into a walk back to the rock. 

He spent his last night in a bed in one of the last houses of the city. They were less damaged here, farther away from the city centre. He found a carefully sealed jug of water in the house's cool storage unit. The unit was out of power, of course, and its contents were on their way to decomposition, but the water was good. There was also fruit, about to go off in the heat of the two days since the attack. Spock hungrily ate it all, then slept. 

In the morning, he took his chest and walked out into the desert again.

~***~

He set up camp by the rock. The chest went under the little overhang where it had additional shelter. Spock also dragged larger rocks over, stacked them up nearby. He would need more shelter than the overhang provided when there was a sandstorm. Rolled into the blanket and the tarpaulin, his nights were now reasonably comfortable. With the knives, harvesting water plants was much easier, and he soon relearned how to avoid the thorns and leaves and so reduce the incidence of scratches. He could not depend on the water plants forever, though. The little dip in the land was full of them, but if he took too much, he would kill them. He needed an additional source, and he needed food.

He explored, he observed, he put all his knowledge of the local flora and fauna to use. 

He found more clusters of water plants, always hidden in invisible dips in the land. He deduced that there was probably a lens of fresh water under this spot, as well. As he learned more about this particular piece of desert he found an astonishing plethora of life. He found edible plants which he harvested carefully, never more than he needed, never enough to kill the plant. A few leaves, a few roots. However, he soon realized that this would not be enough to feed a growing boy. Despite the fact that he spent long periods of time in meditation, his metabolism slow, saving energy, he still needed more energy than the plant life around him could provide. 

He did more forage trips into the city. At first he was careful, but he never encountered another person, and soon, perhaps illogically, he considered the entire city at his disposal. 

Any fresh or frozen stores were ruined by the time he came back the second time, but he could still find plentiful dry stores. Sun drying was, logically, a common and preferred method of Vulcan food preservation and therefore deeply rooted in their cultural cuisine. Occasionally, he also found water stores, always a welcome change from the tangy juice he sucked out of the water plants. 

Of course, with all these riches around, he was not the only scavenger. Small, scaly desert rats were soon nesting in most houses. They, in turn, attracted larger predators. A lot of the indigenous fauna was reptilian, scaly, lithe, coloured in shades of yellows and browns. 

Six months after the attack, Spock had to retreat from a house for the first time to the hissing of a whole pack of long-legged roh'atha, their spiny crests raised and flashing bright blue, their teeth bared. The city was not his alone anymore, but Spock was not afraid of the local animals. 

He was descended from a long line of desert warriors. The longer he spent in the desert, alone, the stronger he felt. His skin had toughened until the rasp of wind-blown sand against it felt like a caress. His senses were sharper than ever. He could smell an impending desert rainfall three hours in advance. He could tell a sandstorm was brewing half a day before the first dirty smudge was visible on the horizon. His eyes spotted the faintest movement against the sand. 

He was changing, he knew that. He was gaining a new understanding for the old ways, for those wild, barbaric desert tribes who roamed Vulcan's unforgiving lands before the Reformation. It was not that he rejected Surak's teachings. His logic and the mental disciplines had stood him in good stead for the past six months. The control they afforded him over his mind and body were a valuable asset to survival. But without the watchful eyes of other Vulcans around, he no longer felt the need to censor the expression of absolutely all emotion. 

So he sneered his disdain at the foremost roh'atha, bared his own teeth in answer, and walked away, to search for easier foraging. 

Yes, his emotions were slipping their tight leash, and so far, this had not brought him any disadvantages. He had thought that, if he were to cease his constant efforts at control, he would find that blind rage waiting, just waiting under his shields to break out, that rage he had once visited on a fellow student when he was seven years old. This did not come to pass. He allowed his emotions near the surface, now, kept only a light touch of control on them, just enough to make sure he stayed alert and aware of his surroundings. Much to his surprise, this was easier than sublimating them completely had ever been, and even if his facial expressions gave them away without his conscious input, his head was clearer, his hands steadier than ever before. 

His Vulcan teachers, he knew, would be highly critical of his current conduct. They would warn him of the dangers of indulgence like that, would show him data on the devastation Vulcans wreaked when they were not in control of themselves. 

But Spock was not Vulcan. Not entirely. And he had recently come to suspect that maybe his human heritage was less of a disadvantage than he had previously believed, _especially_ when it came to emotions. He did not have sufficient data, of course– there was only one him, hardly an appropriate sample size. That did not matter much, though. There was only one him. His actions impinged only on himself. There was no wider society to be affected. It was... freeing. 

For the first time in his life, it did not matter _what_ he was. For the first time in his life, the only thing defining him day to day was he, himself. For the first time, he felt, his nature could assert itself freely, could test out the most appropriate state of existence for him. 

As he took the day's haul back to his camp at an easy trot across the sand, Spock smiled, just a little. The sun burned in the sky with all the ferocious heat of summer, the sand shimmered with treacherous reflected heat and light around him, the wind licked at his exposed skin rough like the tongue of a sehlat. It was a good day. 

Maybe this was the existence that had made Vulcan evolution what it was: Strong, hardy creatures with the mental control to govern their bodies' internal functions, with the eidetic memory to remember every source of food and water in the monotonous expanse of deserts, with an emotional furnace to rival the desert's violent, changeable temper. Maybe, Spock thought, the problem of emotion so deep and unfettered it threatened the survival of the species had arisen out of a change in environment, in conditions: population growth and technological progress. If there were only a handful of individuals scattered across the barren land, blind rage might give you the strength you needed to defend your scarce resources against all challengers.

Spock did not know whether there was any truth to these speculations. They were not logical, served no purpose. No, that was not true. They kept his mind agile, occupied. Spock decided they were logical, after all, if not scientifically valuable. 

The fact remained that he was coming to gain a certain measure of respect for those wild, barbaric ancestors, with Vulcan's fire in their blood, who had survived, thrived, in the harshest of conditions, who were, after all, not only the ones who had almost destroyed themselves but who had also built the foundations on which Surak's Reformation was possible in the first place. Spock was coming to respect them and the hard, bloody rituals they had left in their culture, at the most central points in their lives, in their initiation and mating rituals. Spock had always been aware that Vulcan physiology had advantages over human physiology. But now was the first time that he was honestly proud of being Vulcan, proud without the emotional need to denigrate his human heritage, either. 

He was Spock, of the clan of Surak. He was Spock, son of Sarek and Amanda Grayson. He did not know whether his parents were still alive. He did not know where they were, what had happened to them. But he was proud to be their son. He was just about twelve years old, he was alone, and he was capable. He was adequate, adequate to the most fundamental test of life: survival.

~***~


	3. Chapter 3

**2246**

The dim emergency lighting drenched everything in red while alarms blared through the ship. Leonard McCoy waved his tricorder over another still form and cursed as the readings confirmed another casualty. _This_ , this was why he thought flying through space in a damn nutshell was a crazy idea! Why, oh why didn't he just find himself a nice planet and settle down?! Colonies needed medics, too! 

Coolant wafted through the engine room from broken pipes, obscured the floor, and Leonard almost tripped over the legs of another body. Muttering obscenities under his breath, he pointed his tricorder, crouched down, and, yes, a reading! Unconscious, mild concussion, bruising, otherwise fine. He looked up from the tricorder and recognised the man, jabbed a hypo full of stimulants into his neck. 

“C'mon, Scotty, we've gotta get out of here!”

The engineer moaned as he regained consciousness. 

“C'mon!” Leonard urged, wrapped an arm around the man's shoulders to help him up off the floor. 

The speakers crackled. 

“This is the Captain speaking. All hands abandon ship, I repeat, all hands abandon ship. Environmental systems failure and warp core breach are imminent. Abandon ship, I repeat, abandon ship.”

Leonard cursed some more and started to stumble towards the door, swaying under Scotty's weight. 

“No,” Scotty gasped as Leonard turned left towards the escape pods. “Shuttle bay. It's closer.” 

Leonard swung them around and went right instead. Scotty found his feet after a few steps, and they broke into a run. Leonard was frighteningly aware of the cataclysmic reaction running out of control behind them. Yeah, this was why he hated space travel. Sure, it took power to get anywhere in a reasonable amount of time, but when you lost control of that power... He consoled himself with the knowledge that he would probably not feel much if they were caught in the explosion. They'd be disintegrated within fractions of a second. 

But, wonder of wonders, they reached the shuttle bay before the core went up. Scotty threw himself into the pilot's seat and started flicking switches and tapping away at the controls. Leonard took the co-pilot's seat next to him, strapped in, then strapped Scotty in, then keyed in the commands to open the shuttle-bay doors. For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened. What if the core was already so unstable that they didn't have enough power to open? What if some circuit was fried, somewhere, and they didn't receive the commands?

But then the doors ponderously started to swing open, to reveal a strip of black, distant stars burning white and clear. The shuttle's engine whined to life, and they were getting out of here, they were in the air and flying for the doors, and for the first time since this whole mess started, Leonard dared to be cautiously optimistic. 

He should've known better. Sure, they made it off the ship, out into space, but then the shock wave of the exploding warp core caught them, caught them and swept them right into New Vulcan's atmosphere, and gravity was suddenly an issue, and they were going down, they were so going down, controls disrupted by the radiation, and if the inertial dampeners failed, they were dead, so dead. If they didn't get some control back, if they didn't manage to break their fall, they were dead. 

The inertial dampeners didn't fail. Scotty's hands flew over the controls, and he somehow coaxed them back to life, but they were already so low, so low, flat yellow sands promising a hard landing. 

They smacked into the planet like a stone, Leonard couldn't tell up from down and left from right and something hit his head and he lost consciousness before he could tell whether he was still alive or dead.

~***~

Leonard came to with a moan. Oh, sweet mother of God, he _hurt_...! He carefully blinked his eyes open, prepared for the stab of pain in his head. It wasn't as bad as he'd expected, since the light was dim. There was a stone ceiling above him, and dust particles danced in a beam of sunlight coming from somewhere by his feet. The ground under him was hard, but he could feel fabric against his fingers where they rested at his side.

He twitched his fingers and wriggled his toes. Everything responded. Good, probably no spinal injuries. The crash was coming back to him and he frowned at the rock above his face. This was not the inside of their shuttle. 

He raised a hand and felt along his head, flinched when his fingers encountered the tender bump, the sticky grittiness in his hair. He raised his hand above his face, and yeah, that was the rusty brown of dried blood. He wished he could tell whether his pupils were evenly dilated. For that matter, he wished he had a tricorder to point at himself. Since he didn't have either, he risked pushing up on his elbows, carefully. 

Yeah, his head really hurt, but he didn't experience any dizziness, no spots in front of his eyes, so that was good. No nausea, either, just a monster of a headache, and a bruised feeling along his shoulders and chest where he'd slammed into the seatbelts. Up on his elbows, he took in his surroundings. 

He was in a small cave, lying on an old, faded blanket. The floor of the cave was sand, the walls and ceiling yellow rock. The light came from the entrance, a small opening up a ramp of sand towards the ceiling. The cave wasn't very high, just barely high enough that he could sit or crouch without hitting his head. It was wide, though. There was a chest against one wall together with a few other odds and ends, a pot, a coil of rope. And Scotty was stretched out on the floor next to him, on another old blanket, eyes closed, unmoving. 

Leonard rolled to his hands and knees, feeling like his head was only loosely attached to his body, and took the man's pulse. A bit fast, but steady. His breathing was regular. Leonard lifted his lids, watched the pupils contract a little at the additional light. He quickly checked over the rest of the engineer. Amazingly, all he found were bruises and a sprained wrist, swollen and nasty, but from what he could tell, the bone didn't appear to be broken. 

There could be internal injuries, he knew. With Scotty unconscious, the man couldn't tell him if anything else hurt. But, considering they'd crashed a goddamn space shuttle, they were in pretty good shape. 

Since there wasn't anything else he could do for Scotty at the moment, Leonard crawled over to the exit, wondering whether he could find the actual inhabitant of this place and find out what was going on. 

He fit through the exit just barely. Whoever lived here couldn't be particularly big, which was a bit of a relief. They hadn't been harmed, so that might mean whoever had taken them from the shuttle might be trying to help. However, you never knew in space. Maybe they were dinner. Yeah, yeah, this was New Vulcan, former Federation territory, so possibly friendly. But the Vulcan colony had been destroyed years ago, no one knew by whom, so Leonard thought his scepticism could be excused. 

He found himself on a slight rise above a desert, yellow sand baking under the sun, the land stretching out in soft, uniform ripples for what looked like forever. Leonard raised a hand and wiped at his brow. The sun on his face felt like instant sunburn waiting to happen, and the air was like breathing in a furnace. Damn, this place was hot. 

He climbed the rest of the way out of the cave. From outside, the entrance to the cave looked like no more than a small hole in the ground under the big, rocky top of this little hill. Leonard circled the rock formation once. The scenery didn't change much: desert, desert, more desert. The only difference was that there seemed to be a mountain range far, far away to the horizon on the other side from the cave entrance. Leonard couldn't make out more than a few dark blue, jagged peaks swimming seemingly above thin air. There was no sign of the shuttle that he could see. He sighed, leaned back against the stone on the shady side, looked out over that empty, yellow expanse. If their mystery host wasn't friendly, they were in deep trouble. Leonard, at least, hadn't the first clue about how to survive on a desert planet. 

Since the glare of the sunlight off the sand made his head ache fiendishly and the wind was drying him out, stuck sand to every sweaty inch of skin, Leonard decided to crawl back into the cave under the rock. 

Scotty was still out cold, and it was warm and stuffy in the cave, but it was better than outside. Leonard tried to stay awake, but there was nothing to do, and he couldn't stand and pace. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

~***~

He woke with a start, pushed up on his elbows again, and found himself regarded by a pair of curious, dark eyes. They were set in a pale, narrow face with up-swept brows, pointy ears and long inky black hair, falling over one shoulder in a neat braid. A Vulcan. An honest-to-God Vulcan. Leonard's eyes flicked over the rest of the Vulcan and he felt his brows rise. This guy was a _kid_. He was crouching on the cave floor, back to the entrance, pale limbs lanky and awkward, bare knees bony. He was wearing an assortment of ragged, faded clothing and what looked like skins, scaled and patterned in yellows and browns. In his hands, he gripped a metal rod, at least four feet long and an inch in diameter and sharpened to a vicious point. Leonard swallowed. A _feral_ Vulcan kid.

“Hallo,” he said cautiously. 

The kid cocked his head like a curious bird. 

“Do you understand me? Do you speak Standard?” Lord knew, Leonard didn't speak freakin' Vulcan. 

The kid regarded him for another moment, then dipped his head in what could be a slow nod. “I do.”

“Oh,” Leonard said. That hadn't been so hard. “That's good. I'm Leonard McCoy.”

“I am Spock.” The kid's voice was a little scratchy, and deeper than Leonard had expected it to be. 

“Hello, Spock. Uh, what are you doing here?”

Spock's brows drew together a little. “I live here,” he finally told Leonard, and Leonard thought he sounded a little puzzled. 

“All alone? You're just a kid!”

Spock cocked his head again, and that was definitely curiosity on his face. “I am fifteen years old and approaching the age of legal if not biological maturity. It is not by choice that I live alone. You appear very emotional. Also, you have not reached full biological maturity yourself.”

Je-sus, the kid could talk! “Damn straight I'm emotional! My space shuttle just crashed! I'm talking to a feral teenage Vulcan!”

Spock thought about that for a moment, then nodded placidly. “That is true. You are human, are you not?”

“Yeah, I am.” Leonard scowled. “What of it?”

The kid shrugged a little. “An emotional response is the norm for your species. It is logical and no reason for concern.”

Leonard stared at him for a long moment and then he had to laugh. “Yeah, don't worry, kid. This crazy alien won't hurt you.”

Spock looked doubtful. “I do not think you could. You have no weapons and are not in prime physical condition.”

“True enough,” Leonard admitted. He kinda liked this odd kid. At least he wasn't beating around the bush. “So, did you take us here?”

Spock inclined his head. “I did. I was uncertain whether your shuttle's condition was stable, and your species is not well adapted to survive in this planet's environment.”

“Thanks, Spock.”

“You are welcome.”

Would you look at that, a polite feral Vulcan teenager!

“I have been been back to the shuttle and have brought you supplies you might find useful,” Spock told him earnestly and pulled a bag from behind him. 

Surprised by the kid's foresight, Leonard sat up and pulled the bag over. He saw dried food rations, water purification tabs, two precious bottles of actual water, and, yes!, his medkit and tricorder. God, this kid was smart. 

Leonard grabbed the tricorder and switched it on. It seemed to have survived the crash without any damage. He quickly ran it across himself, found nothing unexpected, and then turned it on Scotty. Spock was watching him with open curiosity. As it turned out, Scotty's concussion had moved from mild to medium, his wrist _was_ badly sprained, but the tricorder found no sign of internal haemorrhaging. Leonard breathed a sigh of relief. This could have ended much, much worse. 

Out of curiosity, and maybe to see how he would react, Leonard turned the tricorder on Spock. He raised his eyebrows at the results. 

“You appear surprised,” Spock stated. 

“Well, kid, if you were human I'd say you were hypothermic and your pulse is through the roof.”

“I assure you, I am in perfect health.”

“Fascinating,” Leonard said, then turned the tricorder off. “So, how long have you been here?”

Spock cocked his head again in that way of his. “I have been on this planet for eight years, four months, and twenty-three days.”

Leonard blinked at the detailed statement, and it's implications. “I meant, actually, how long have you been living like this?” He made a vague gesture at their surroundings. “Where are your parents?”

“I discovered this cave two years, two months, and eleven days ago. However, I have been living in this desert for three years, ten months, and seventeen days. I do not know where my parents are.”

“Jesus,” Leonard said and passed a hand across his face. 

“This causes you emotional distress.” It didn't sound like a question, but Spock's scrunched-up eyebrows made it one. 

“Hell, yeah!” Leonard scowled. “It's called compassion. You know what that is, kid?”

Spock nodded. “The act of sympathising with the emotional distress of another being.”

“Well, there you go. That's what I'm doing. Aren't you lonely?”

Spock was quiet for a moment, then dipped his head. “I am.” 

The admission was matter-of-fact, and somehow, that made it worse. 

“What happened?” Leonard asked, his voice gentle. “What happened here, kid?”

Spock looked at him with his dark eyes, gaze frank and steady. 

“The city was attacked by three Romulan birds-of-prey. Additional ground troops were transported in as well, I presume from a ship in orbit. On behest of my mother, I fled the city. When I returned two days later, all features central to the city's infrastructure had been destroyed, along with much of the residential areas, and the entire population was gone. I do not know what happened to them.” For the first time, Spock looked a little lost. “Do you have further information on the status of the colony's inhabitants?”

Regretfully, Leonard shook his head. “No, sorry, kid. Romulans, huh? As far as the rest of the galaxy's concerned, the Colony just vanished. No one heard from your guys for a while, and finally, someone decided to check and run a scan, and found everyone gone. There haven't been many Vulcans around since then.”

“I see,” Spock said, those expressive eyebrows drawing together in a frown. 

“So you've been out here all alone for almost four years? That's pretty impressive,” Leonard said, because it was true, and also because he wanted to cheer the kid up. 

“My education and physiology have proved adequate for survival, although I have benefited from the resources of the city.”

God, a fifteen-year-old just wasn't supposed to talk like that... Leonard had heard about Vulcans, of course, he'd even seen some back on Earth when he was a kid, and he'd seen footage about them. So he knew about how they valued logic and practised emotional suppression, and, yeah, the grown-up Vulcans talked like this. He hadn't known their kids did, too. And this one must've learned it when he was eleven!

“Why don't you live in the city?” Leonard asked, curious. 

“The water has become fouled during the attack.”

“Ah,” Leonard said, because in a desert like this, that certainly explained it. “So there's good water around here?”

“There are plants,” Spock informed him and retrieved a fist-sized, brown lump from a bag at his hips. “I do not know whether they are harmful to your species.”

Leonard ran the tricorder over it and frowned at the results. There were some organic compounds here that he wasn't too eager to try out before he had to and he told Spock as much. Spock nodded his understanding and took the piece back. His fingers expertly pried it open and he buried his strong, white teeth in the pale interior while Bones opened one of the water bottles and took a few careful sips. Leonard dined on a ration bar while Spock chewed something that looked like a strip of leather.

Darkness was falling, and Spock settled against the wall of the cave, cross-legged, and informed Leonard that he would spent the night in meditation. This, he explained, meant that Leonard was free to sleep. Spock would become aware of any dangers. 

“Okay,” Leonard said, not entirely convinced about leaving the watch up to a teenager, but he was very tired. And the only real treatment for concussion, even after centuries, was, after all, sleep. So he checked once more on Scotty, and found that the man had slipped from unconsciousness to normal sleep. Satisfied with this sign of improvement, Leonard lay down to sleep as well.

~***~

Scotty woke the next morning and Leonard introduced him to Spock. After a short breakfast and after Leonard bandaged Scotty's wrist, Spock led them through the desert to their shuttle. And, boy, the kid had a stride on him! Between the heat, the gravity, and the thin air, Leonard and Scotty felt thoroughly worn out by the time they arrived, while Spock wasn't even breathing hard.

Leonard checked on the rest of the shuttle's supplies, while Scotty crawled through the ship's innards and made sceptical noises. The verdict, however, was far better than Leonard had dared to hope: 

“Aye, I can fix 'er,” Scotty drawled. “It'll take a few days, tha's all.” He frowned up at the ship. “Might be easier if she was closer to your little camp, though, Spock my lad. Let me see what we can do abou' that!”

He vanished back into the shuttle while Leonard pulled out a PADD, sat in the rear compartment where he was out of the sun and the wind, and started a real inventory. Spock watched him for all of two minutes, and then started to help. 

He wasn't familiar with space shuttles, and Leonard started to teach him the words for every odd and end he pointed at. Amazingly, Spock remembered every single one after a single repetition. These Vulcans were something else. Or maybe that was just Spock, Leonard wouldn't know. 

Scotty was something else, too: After an hour and a half, he had the shuttle running enough that they could actually fly it back to the rock. Navigation was still mostly out, and so were the inertial dampeners, now, and there were a bunch of other little things that needed fixing before it was space-worthy again, but it did fine flying slowly a few yards above the ground under manual control. Leonard was glad. He hadn't been looking forward to the walk back. Spock watched everything with intent, dark eyes.

~***~

They spent the next four days on New Vulcan, repairing the shuttle. On the second day, they flew it to the city, to test the state of Scotty's repairs and to get water. Spock confidently steered them to a well, while Leonard stared at the passing city through the window.

It was a ruin. The yellow sandstone buildings stood like broken, decayed teeth against the pale sky, and rubble had rained into the streets. Sand and dust covered everything, collected in the lee of walls and boulders, and Leonard could easily imagine how they would slowly swallow the city, how it would sink below the sands as the desert reasserted itself. 

Movement caught his eye and he saw an animal scramble along the crest of a heap of stones. At first glance, it looked somewhat like a greyhound, lean and long-legged, but there was something distinctly reptilian about it, scales shimmering in the sun, and the black claws on its feet were long and wicked. It crouched down at the highest point, and hissed over at them, bared fangs the length of Leonard's fingers. A crest of blue spikes flared up behind the creature's neck and all the way down its spine. 

“Roh'atha,” Spock said. “They have become increasingly prolific here.”

Leonard cast a look down at the hide Spock wore as something like a skirt. “That one of them?”

Spock followed his glance, then shook his head. “No. Roh'atha are unlikely to attack if not provoked. This was an a-liah. They are much larger and not given to retreat.”

Leonard kind of regretted that he'd asked. 

They filled several empty storage containers from the shuttle with water, and applied a liberal helping of purification tablets. The water had seemed fine to Leonard when they pulled it up from the well, but Spock had wrinkled his nose and told them seriously that he could smell it wasn't. Since he was the one who'd survived in this hell hole of a planet for four years, Leonard didn't question his expertise. 

At least their water needs were now covered and they wouldn't have to stoop to drinking their own purified piss. Leonard grimaced. Yeah, he sure hoped those tablets were up to whatever had fouled the city's water. But from what the tricorder registered, they were working just fine. 

Leonard couldn't say he was sad to leave that ghost city behind again. It was creepy. And the thought of Spock, all alone here for years... That just wasn't right. It was a wonder the kid was still sane. 

Scotty spent the next few days banging away at the shuttle. If the engineer followed through, and Leonard had no reason to believe he wouldn't, and got the shuttle space-worthy again, they could reach Starbase 23 in two to three weeks. They now had a hundred and fifty litres of drinkable water, which ought to be enough, even in the event that they managed to find some of the escape pods from the _Risa's Pride_ still out there. The food rations were more of a problem. Leonard had invited Spock to come with them, of course. After only a short moment of hesitation, the teenager had agreed, and he was willing to share what food stores he had with them. Still, it wasn't really enough for comfort. 

So Spock picked up his metal spear and declared solemnly: “I will go hunt.”

Leonard stared at him. “I thought Vulcans were vegetarians?”

Spock inclined his head. “By choice, not nature. Like humans, we are omnivorous. As I found myself unable to attain sufficient energy on a vegetarian diet, I chose to break with tradition.”

“Do you need any help?”

“I believe I shall not require your assistance,” Spock answered politely, and still managed to convey that he didn't see how a puny little human could be of any help. Not that he was entirely wrong– he was clearly better at coping with the local conditions than Leonard or Scotty were. Still, it went against Leonard's instincts to let him head out there alone. But he swallowed his objections, and watched as the kid strode out across the shimmering sands while the sun struck blinding sparks on his spear. He returned three hours later with his spoils dangling from his spear. There were two small lizards, and something the size of a small pig, only uglier. It had claws and spikes and fangs, too. This was one goddamn nasty planet. 

Spock butchered the animals efficiently, cut the meat into strips and laid most of them out on the rock in the sun, presumably to dry. Then he went to watch Scotty and Leonard work on the shuttle while he ate the rest. Raw. 

“Jesus, kid!” Leonard exclaimed at the sight. “Haven't you ever heard of cooking your food?!”

Spock raised his eyebrows at him, rather condescendingly, Leonard thought. “This desert offers insufficient material with which to build a fire. What little there is, I save for an emergency situation that might arise.”

Right. Leonard might have thought of that. He nonetheless scowled at Spock, who merely raised his sharp little eyebrows again and kept chewing, lips, chin and fingers stained with dark purple blood. Leonard had rarely seen anything more disturbing. For a brief moment, he wondered whether it was a mistake to let this kid loose on the galaxy. But when Scotty finally finished his repairs, of course they took the kid with them. They could hardly leave him on the planet by himself, all alone. 

They reached Starbase 23 two weeks and a day later, just the three of them, with no further complications.

~***~


	4. Chapter 4

**2258**

The _Constitution Class_ was located on the fourth level of entertainment decks of Starbase 17. The starbase was in space claimed by the Betazed Alliance, generally the most stable region of former Federation territory and the entertainment decks were well furnished with businesses and well frequented. Holosigns flashed and flickered in a multitude of colours, advertised everything from “The Perfect Cup of Coffee – Real Terran Taste!” to “Sex, sex, sex – all species, all sexes!” complete with explicit 3D pictures that were slightly disturbing in their realism. 

The _Constitution Class_ had its own holosign: “The Ship Is In! Dancers On Stage! 1600 to 3000 hours!” More signs next to the entrance announced special offers on selected drinks and a live music event the next week. The entrance was formed by broad strips of sturdy plastic sheeting, shuttle standard strength, and Spock could hear the low thrum of music even before he followed the doctor and Scott inside. 

Inside, the base line was a fast, almost subsonic throb low in Spock's midsection, the melody a surprisingly pleasant composition of flutes and strings instead of the grating synthetic sound of current fashion he had expected. The music was loud, but just below his pain threshold. Multicoloured lights circled and flashed across a well-populated dance floor, pulsed in time with the music. Visibility was rather less than Spock preferred and he kept his hand on his disrupter and himself close behind his companions as they made their way along the side towards the bar at the other end of the club. This area was better lit and, through some clever feat of acoustics, a good deal quieter. As they approached the bar, Spock caught sight of the promised dancers. There were two round, raised stages at each side of the long bar, both with a pole through the middle that supported a circle of lights focused down on the dancers. On the right was an Orion female, red curls piled atop her head, tendrils trailing down to her bare shoulders. Her only clothing, as far as Spock could determine, was a piece of sheer gold cloth around her hips, tasselled fringe swinging with each sway of her hips, each taut, precise step of her bare legs. A shimmer of gold glittered in the light on her green skin along her arms and collarbones with every movement. 

However, it was the other dancer who inspired a distinct physical reaction in Spock. 

This one was male, a young human. The Orion was dancing with the grace typical of her species, sinuous, seductive, every movement a promise, an invitation, a subtle, intriguing tease. 

There was nothing subtle about this young man's dancing. 

It was forceful, wild, and utterly blatant. The way his hips pulsed in rhythm with the music, how he twisted and writhed against the pole– Spock could all but see the imaginary partner he was mating with. His skin was flushed pink and gleaming with sweat, his hair bright blond in the lights above him. His clothing consisted of knee-high boots and a pair of tight shorts, both black synleather. Muscles rippled under all the bare skin his dress exposed.

And he was smiling. His cheeks were flushed, his chest heaving with exertion, his pink lips parted as he breathed hard, but there was a curl at the corners of his mouth and a crinkle around his eyes that suggested a smile. As they passed behind the crowd gathered around the raised stage, Spock caught a look of those eyes: a ring of bright blue around dilated pupils. Then he threw his head back, thick, dark lashes flicked down, and he pushed back against the pole, hands wrapped around it far over his head, legs apart. 

The crowd around the stage, predominantly males of several different species, smelled strongly of arousal, and Spock felt the equivalent reactions in his own body. His heartbeat sped up, three beats to one of the music, his breathing deepened, his capillaries widened as his adrenalin levels increased along with several neurotransmitters. His fingertips tingled as neural stimulation thresholds dropped to heighten physical sensation, prepare for telepathic contact. Spock considered the situation for a moment, then decided to allow his body its instinctual response. There was no harm in it. He was not in need of absolute focus at this time, and a high adrenalin level would only be advantageous if there should be a physical altercation that required his intervention. So he enjoyed the rush of sensation, and the sight of the dancer as he slid down into a crouch, rubbing himself against the pole in time to the heavy beat of the base on his way down, muscles in his stomach and thighs flexing and bunching. 

Leonard and Scott had reached the bar, and Spock stepped up next to them as the bartender came over. She was another human, a young dark-skinned woman, tall and slender, with long dark hair. 

“What can I get you?” she asked, voice clipped. Her body language appeared closed to Spock, business-like. He didn't think she was inviting idle conversation.

Leonard cleared his throat, whether in reaction to her attractiveness or to her demeanour, Spock couldn't say. 

“We're here to meet someone, actually. A Captain Kirk?”  
“Ah.” She gave a curt nod. “He'll be with you in about ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” Leonard said, voice pitched to express sincerity. 

“Sure. Anything else? Drink while you wait?” 

Leonard exchanged a look with Scott, and cast a brief glance at Spock as well, then turned back to her and shook his head. “No, thank you.”

They received another curt nod, and then the bartender moved away to serve other customers. 

“This place sure is something else, eh?” Scott chuckled. “Quite the view.”

“Yeah,” Leonard agreed. “Bit frosty, though. Ya think I offended her or something?”

“Naw.” Scott waved his concerns off. “Probably gets hit on all night, beautiful lass like her. Might be she's just sick of it.” 

Leonard nodded, his eyes drifting after the bartender, than up to the Orion dancer. He watched for a moment, then turned his head back to face the bottles arrayed along the back of the bar. He cleared his throat again. “Yeah... _quite_ the view.”

Scott laughed again. “Aye, Orions, mate...” He shook his head. “With moves like that, she don't need pheromones to drive a man mad.” 

Both Scott and Leonard turned their heads to watch the woman dance again. Spock watched as well, for a moment, but then he returned his gaze to the other stage. 

“Seems like our boy's more interested in the other one, eh, Spock?” Spock turned his head in time to see Scott elbow Leonard in the side. 

“He is most attractive,” Spock agreed placidly, and Leonard pulled a face and made a noise Spock assumed was supposed to express how disturbed he was. Doctor Leonard McCoy was not attracted to males. Spock raised an eyebrow at him and allowed himself a slight smile. 

Leonard scowled at him. “Don't you smirk at me, kid. Don't forget who's gonna be the one patching you up next time you pull another one of your fool stunts.”

“I don't believe it's adequate for a doctor to threaten his patients with medical care,” Spock replied in his most inflectionless tone. 

“Hah!” Leonard snorted, then gave him half a grin. “Shows what you know.”

Spock raised his eyebrow again. “Indeed.”

Leonard looked at him suspiciously and Spock kept his face blank. 

Leonard eventually rolled his eyes, and went back to watching the Orion dancer, apparently while trying not to actually look at her bare breasts. 

Spock had no such compunctions about watching the young man dance for the next seven minutes and thirty-five seconds and let his eyes roam freely. He kept his physical response to a pleasant but not distracting buzz, though, yes, this young human was _most_ attractive. 

Unfortunately, his performance seemed to be at an end before their business partner put in an appearance. The young man waved to the crowd with a smile, sat down with his legs dangling over the edge of the stage and pulled a towel out from under it. He slung it over his shoulders and scrubbed one end over his face while he talked to a few lingering customers, laughed. Spock watched as he jumped off the stage and walked along the bar, came to a stop just an arm's length from them, propped his hands on the gleaming metal top of the counter. Spock could smell his sweat, wet and salty and human. 

The bartender appeared promptly and slid a tall glass of water over to the young man. 

“Thanks, you're a life-saver! You know I love you, right?” He flashed a bright smile at her. 

Her eyebrows rose. “Yeah, I'm sure,” she said in a tone Spock had long since learned to categorize as “sarcastic”. “Your meet's here.” She jerked her chin in Leonard's direction. 

Spock had not quite processed the implications of this statement when the young man turned to them and subjected them to that same bright smile. 

“Hi, sorry to keep you waiting. Jim Kirk.”

He held out a hand to Leonard, who took it and shook automatically, even while his facial expression indicated his shock. 

“Leonard McCoy,” Leonard finally said. “Montgomery Scott, Mr Spock.” He indicated them with a wave of his hand. 

Kirk inclined his head at them and opened his mouth in preparation to say something, when a large hand landed on his bare shoulder. It belonged to a big, beefy man who had stepped up behind Kirk. 

Kirk turned. “Yes?” he asked with a smile. 

The man held up a credit chip. “How much for the night?”

Kirk's smile lost none of his friendliness as he shook his head slightly. “Sorry, but I just dance. No offence.” 

He inclined his head and turned back around again, clearly dismissing the man– who grabbed him by the shoulder again and jerked him back around. 

“Hey now, you little bitch, if you think you can tease like that and not put out–”

Spock tensed in the expectation of violence, deliberated at what point his interference would be appropriate. 

However, events proceeded speedily without his intervention. 

Kirk whipped to the side, his fingers closing over the man's extended arm– there was a shout, and a slam, and the man found himself face-down on the counter, arm twisted behind his back, Kirk leaning over him. Somehow there was a knife in Kirk's other hand, blade glinting in the light as he held it to the man's throat. There was no smile on Kirk's face now, and his eyes were narrow. 

“Now, listen up, Cupcake, this is how it's going to go: My friend Uhura here is going to mix you a nice drink on the house, you're going to take it and go away, and I won't have to break your arm. Give me a nod if you understand.” Judging by the shift in his body, Kirk had just tightened his grip on the man's arm, and he nodded frantically, eyes rolling as he tried to keep the blade in sight. 

“Very good,” Kirk praised condescendingly, let go of the man's arm and patted him on the head. “Uhura, drink for our friend.”

The bartender eyed the man with obvious disgust. 

“What can I get you? And don't try anything else, or I'll shoot you with the phaser I keep back here. In the head.”

Kirk turned back towards them as the man declined the drink harshly and stormed off, frustration and embarrassed anger clearly visible in his flushed face. Kirk was all smiles again as he slid his knife into the top of his boot. 

“So sorry about that. Some people just have no manners. Now, to business. Your message said you need an escort for one cargo ship, three weeks one way. May I ask what route you're planning to take?”

“I...” Leonard said, while his eyes took in Kirk's form from head to toe, probably unconsciously. “Aren't you a little young to be a Captain?” he burst out. 

Kirk raised his eyebrows. “I own a ship. That makes me a captain.” 

“Well, when you put it like that...” Leonard allowed. “Still...”

“Hey.” Kirk shrugged, spread his hands. “You contacted me because you need an escort. If you don't like what I offer, you don't have to hire me. But how about we go and have a look at the ship? Just give me a minute to change. She's out back.”

“Aye, that sounds sensible,” Scott said, and Leonard nodded reluctantly. Kirk's eyes darted to Spock, and he inclined his head. 

“Great!” Kirk exclaimed and rubbed his hands. “Be back with you in just a moment.”

He put his hands on the bar behind his back, pushed up until he sat on it and swung his legs over. His feet hadn't quite landed on the other side when the bartender shouted: “JIM! Get your ass fucking off my bar top!” 

Kirk winked at them, blew a kiss at the irate woman, who had her arms crossed and was glowering at him, and vanished through a door in the back corner. 

Leonard turned to Spock and Scott. “Dear God, he's a kid!”

“Well, now,” Scott said. “Let's have a look at tha' ship before we make any decisions, yeah?”

Leonard scowled. “Ship's only as good as its Captain. C'mon, Spock, hit us with the logic.”

Spock looked down at the floor for a moment, considering, then back up. “I believe we should look at the ship.”

Leonard threw his hands up. “Are you sure you don't just want into those tight pants of his?!”

Spock raised his eyebrows. “I have several reasons for my recommendation.”

“Enlighten us.”

“First: it is illogical to make a decision based on minimal data when more data is easily obtainable, hence, we should look at the ship. Second: We have replied to an offer on a monitored message board. Let's not forget that we chose this offer because of positive evaluations of previous customers, and that access to the message board is restricted to those who have undergone an application process and have been deemed legitimate businesses. Third: While it says nothing about his ship and little about his talents as a starship captain, Kirk has just demonstrated that he possesses quick reflexes and above average physical strength, as well as at least rudimentary martial arts training. He has also demonstrated that he can act decisively in a conflict situation.” Spock looked at Scott, then Leonard. “I recommend we look at his ship.”

“Oh, fine, fine, we'll look at the damn ship. You and your bloody logic.” 

Spock smiled, very slightly, but let his fondness for the doctor show as Leonard scowled at him. 

Kirk did return in short order, now clad in a pair of blue jeans, a black shirt, and a short, light-brown synleather jacket, pale wool lining the collar. A phaser was belted around his hips, and Spock felt his eyebrows rise in appreciation. That looked like a late-model 'Fleet phaser, and those were hard to come by these days. On the other side of the belt, Kirk carried something that looked suspiciously like a Klingon D'k tahg. Spock had to admit he was curious as to how Kirk would have come by such a weapon. 

But Kirk was already nodding at them. “Coming?”

They followed him around and behind the bar, where he swiped a card through an old-fashioned door lock. They exited into a hallway that was somewhat more dingy than those they had seen so far, clearly not part of the public areas of the station. Kirk took them along a few dozen feet of moving walkway and up two levels in a turbo lift. They exited onto the residential dock level, berths reserved for the ships of permanent station residents. Kirk led them over to the large windows opening out onto the black of space. 

“There she is,” he announced, emotion colouring his voice. Spock thought he detected affection, and something else... reverence? He wasn't certain, and the human habit of anthropomorphizing objects still confused him, even after over a decade spent in Scott's company. 

They stepped up to the window to look at the ship. 

It was dark green in the light pouring from the windows, with a protruding forward section and an aft section flaring into distinctive wings. 

Once more, Kirk had managed to surprise Spock. 

“That's a Klingon bird-of-prey,” Leonard stated, voice harsh with shock. 

Kirk smirked. “Yep. Meet the _Wrath of Isis_. Isn't she a beauty?”

“How the hell did you get your hands on a _Klingon bird-of-prey_?” Leonard demanded. 

Kirk shrugged casually. “Won her in a Poker game.”

Spock felt his eyebrow arch, and Leonard looked incredulous. Kirk, however, turned back to look out at the ship. 

“She's got four forward-firing wing-mounted disruptor cannons, fore and aft photon torpedo launchers, and a multi-directional ventral phaser bank. She's got deflector shields, of course, and does warp 7.” He gave them a charming, crooked smile and raised his eyebrows. “Impressed yet?”

“Aye, lad, aye,” Scott agreed, eyes shining. “That's some arsenal you have there. Phaser bank?”

“Retrofitted,” Kirk answered easily. “Cost me an arm and a leg, but it's worth it. Phasers are where weapons development is going and it never hurts to have options.”

“It sure doesn't. Now, lad, there's just one question left: Can you handle what your lady over there has to offer?”

Kirk laughed out loud, then leered. “Never met a lady I couldn't handle,” he drawled. “But that over there is no lady. She's a bitch, and nasty at that. Likes me fine, though. Also, I've got the best crew in the quadrant. If a single ship can protect your cargo, it's us.”

“How much is your complement?” Spock asked. 

Kirk's eyes turned towards him, then quickly flicked over his features. The dim light in the club must have concealed their distinctive characteristics. The briefest look of surprise crossed Kirks face, but nothing in his demeanour changed. 

“Including me, five at the moment.” 

Spock inclined his head. That wasn't a large crew, but large crews were rare in this day and age, at least where private operations were concerned. 

“Any more questions?” Kirk asked. “Still interested?”

Leonard crossed his arms. “That depends. What's your price?”

“That depends,” Kirk echoed dryly. “Where are you going?”

“The Alpha Centauri outpost,” Leonard answered grudgingly. Kirk's eyebrows shot up. 

“Okay, yeah, that's no walk in the park. I see why you want some protection that way. 4000 credits.”

Spock felt his eyebrows arch, and Leonard spluttered.

“4000...? That's a bit steep, kid!”

Kirk gave Leonard a somewhat condescending look. “Alpha Centauri. Next door neighbour to the Sol singularity, and far too close to Klingon space for comfort, these days. Sink hole of the quadrant– well, one of them, at least; slavers, pirates, you name it and it's probably been to Alpha Centauri for a drink or five. Yeah, that'll cost. I'll give you a month-long cruise around the Betazed Alliance for a thousand credits, room and board included, but for Alpha Centauri, you need to pay me and my crew decently. What's the cargo, anyway?”

“Supplies for the outpost,” Leonard answered shortly. 

Kirk's expression indicated that the vagueness of the answer had not escaped him, but he nodded. “Fair enough. Well, you've seen what I offer. Interested?”

Leonard glanced at Scott, then back at Kirk. “If you'll excuse us for a moment...?” 

Kirk nodded agreeably, and turned to look out at his ship again as they took a few steps down the corridor.

“Well, what do you think?” Leonard asked.

“That's a steep price he's charging,” Scott observed, “but that ship... That's not just some refitted cargo transport, that's an actual warship! And the boy seems to know his weapons. Yes, he's young, but he's sure got confidence.”

“The quality of his equipment is in his favour,” Spock agreed. “While we can certainly find someone who charges less, the protection they can offer is likely to be disproportionally worse.”

Leonard blew out a breath. “I hear you. And yeah, a freaking Klingon bird-of-prey on our side would be a real treat. I'm just not convinced the kid has what it takes to handle an engagement. His arsenal is great and all, unless he accidentally shoots us with it, or just plain chickens out.”

“It is a risk,” Spock admitted. “But he _has_ successfully completed contracts before, according to his positive feedback.”

“I dunno, I like the lad,” Scott said. “He's cocky, sure, and seems he likes the ladies, but he talks a good game, and I'll take him over that grimy Ferengi we met yesterday. At least the boy's seen the inside of a sonic in the last month.”

Spock had to nod his agreement to that. His nose had not been pleased to make the Ferengi's acquaintance. 

“Yeah, okay, then. We hiring the kid?”

Spock inclined his head, and Scott nodded after another moment's deliberation. Leonard exhaled deeply, nodded sharply, and marched back over to Kirk, Scott and Spock following.

“Okay, kid,” he announced, “you've got yourself a deal.”

Kirk smiled brightly and extended his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

~***~

They concluded their business quickly after that. Apparently, Kirk's break would be over shortly, so they settled that Kirk, as was customary, took half the fee in advance, half on arrival at Alpha Centauri, and that Kirk could have his ship ready for departure the day after tomorrow. Kirk was going to message them his contract form later that evening so they could review it and request changes if necessary. Spock had to admit that it was reassuring that Kirk used a formal contract and did not just engage in oral agreements as so many self-employed captains did.

Two days later, Spock took his place at the helm of the _Silver Lady_ and steered her out of her berth, plotted the course to the rendezvous coordinates. The _Wrath of Isis_ was already waiting for them. Spock had to suppress an illogical pang of apprehension at the sight of the Klingon ship hovering against the black. He brought them alongside.

“Incoming transmission, putting it on screen,” Leonard announced from the communications station. 

Kirk appeared on the view screen, sprawled into the raised command chair, one leg slung over an armrest. A few stations were visible behind him, the one on the left occupied by a familiar figure: the young woman who'd tended the bar. 

“Hello, _Silver Lady_ ,” Kirk greeted. “Are we all set to go?”

“We're ready,” Leonard answered. “I'm sending you our course now.”

“Confirmed, _Silver Lady_. Course is logged. I recommend regular check-ins, two hour frequency.”

“Agreed. We'll call you.”

Kirk nodded. “Confirmed. We'll keep our sensors on you. Talk to you at 0930 Federation Standard.”

“Confirmed, 0930 Federation Standard. _Silver Lady_ out.”

They terminated their communication, Leonard gave Spock a nod, and he engaged the warp drive and the autopilot. The stars turned into streaks of light on the view screen, and they were leaving the relative safety of Starbase 17 behind. The _Wrath of Isis_ was a steady presence on their sensors, even if she was invisible to the naked eye.

~***~


	5. Chapter 5

The wail of the ship wide alarm jerked Jim out of sleep. He was halfway to the bridge before he'd quite woken up all the way. 

“Status?” he asked as he dropped himself into the captain's chair, his voice rough. God, he wanted a coffee. 

“Two ships on sensors,” Sulu reported. “So far, they're only keeping pace– no, I have weapon's fire, and the _Lady_ dropped out of warp.”

“Stay with her!” Jim barked. “Shields up!”

“Aye!” The streaks around the window swirled as Sulu adjusted course. Seconds later, they dropped out of warp a mere three kilometres above the _Lady_ , who was engaged in a stand-off with... two Klingon birds-of-prey. 

“I'm registering no damage to the Lady on our scanners,” Sulu informed Jim. “Her shields are up, Klingons have shields up and weapons primed, one of them is targeting the _Lady_ 's propulsion system.”

“I have comm traffic,” Uhura announced. “The _Lady_ is talking to the bird on the left– and we're being hailed.”

“On screen.”

The bridge on the view screen was an almost perfect mirror image to their own. The Klingon in the command chair was especially large, with a strongly-ridged forehead, a veritable mane of black hair, and a broad sash across his shoulder. When he caught sight of Jim, his glower deepened, which Jim wouldn't have thought possible.

“Human pig. What you do with Klingon ship?” he asked in heavily accented Standard. 

“Did your mother fuck a Denebian slime devil to beget you?” Jim asked him conversationally in Klingon. 

That shut him up, while his face tried to assume several expressions of surprise and outrage at once. Jim waited patiently. Yeah, this one wasn't too bright. And young, really young. Jim would estimate that his level of maturity compared to that of an eighteen-year-old human. Probably a son of a prominent family if he was captain at this age. 

“You're as weak as a baby with shit for honour!” the Klingon Captain finally retorted. 

Jim made a thoughtful sound, tilted his head a little in consideration. “Nope, sorry, your insults still need some work. I'm Captain James T. Kirk of the _Wrath of Isis_.”

“What is 'Isis'?” He carefully emulated the syllables. 

“An old Terran goddess of slaves and sinners and magic. And you know how women are.” Jim gave him a conspiratorial grin. “Don't piss them off if you value your balls.”

The captain laughed. “You are either very brave or very foolish, Captain James T. Kirk. I am Captain Wurok of the _Bloodletter_.”

“Nice to meet you, Captain Wurok. Now, not that I mind chatting with you, but which way is this going to go? Are we all going to be on our way, or are we going to try and kill each other over one little cargo ship?”

“What is your business here?” Wurok wanted to know, and Jim shrugged.

“The cargo ship is just delivering supplies, and I've been hired to provide protection.”

Wurok deliberated then tilted his head slightly. 

“You have the spirit of a warrior, Captain James T. Kirk. One day, I will test your spirit and reclaim your goddess for the Empire.”

Jim grinned fiercely. “Looking forward to it, Captain Wurok.”

The Klingon gestured, and the screen went back to show them the hovering Klingon ships. A moment later, their engines engaged and they went to warp. 

“Incoming communication from the _Lady_ ,” Uhura announced and Jim nodded. 

McCoy's face appeared on the screen where the Klingon's had been a moment before. His scowl was almost as impressive. 

“What the hell is going on?!” he demanded. 

“No need to worry,” Jim told him. “The Klingons had better things to do today than mess with us. They're gone.”

McCoy stared at him. “How the fuck did you manage _that_?!”

Jim shrugged. “We just had a chat.”

“A chat.”

Jim nodded. “Yeah, a chat. Are you good to go?”

McCoy nodded, looking a bit dazed. 

In short order, they were on their way again and Jim went back to bed. For a first crisis, that had gone well. Unfortunately, he'd be very surprised if that was the last crisis they encountered. 

It wasn't.

~***~

They were five days out from Alpha Centauri when the alarms sounded, and Jim was having breakfast. He set his coffee down with a curse, dropped his fork, and ran for the bridge.

It was Chekov's turn at the helm. 

“Pavel, status.” 

“The _Lady_ , Keptin, she dropped off our sensors.” Chekov's fingers flew across the controls, his accent thicker than usual with agitation. “I cannot locate her.”

“Get us to her last known location. Keep scanning. Anything unusual before she vanished?”

“Nothing, Keptin! I haf no idea what happened!”

“Relax, Pavel. I'm sure it wasn't your fault. We'll go and see what we see.”

The boy took a deep breath and threw Jim a short, embarrassed grin over his shoulder. 

“We will be arriving at last known coordinates in a moment.”

Just then, Sulu entered the bridge, hair every which way but eyes sharp. Gaila was right behind him. 

“Sulu, take the helm, Chekov, tactical. Gaila, take the sensors. The _Lady_ 's dropped off the radar, we don't know why. Our first priority right now is to find her again.” 

They dropped out of warp just as Pavel scooted over one console and Sulu dropped himself into the pilot's chair. 

Jim felt his eyebrows rise as normal space resolved on the view screen. 

“Okay,” he said slowly, “what's _that_?”

_That_ presented on the viewer as a huge, multicoloured cloud of some kind.

“Composition mostly metals, some form of ionised gas cloud,” Gaila confirmed. 

“Does it interfere with our sensors?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Can we compensate?”

“If I filter... and adjust for the electro-magnetic disturbance...” Gaila muttered. Jim didn't have to look to know that she was frowning in concentration. “There!” she exclaimed triumphantly. “That should filter the worst of it out! Scanning again.”

The screen zoomed in on one particular region of the cloud until it filled entirely with swirls of pink and purple, then zoomed in again, and the familiar, bulky shape of the _Lady_ became visible. She wasn't alone. 

“How badly will the cloud interfere with our other systems?” Jim demanded. 

“Not at all,” Gaila said. “It just creates a lot of white noise for the sensors.”

“Sulu, take us in, full impulse. Gaila, get me readings on the ships.”

“The _Lady_ 's shields are down, warp drive offline. Life support stable, no structural damage that I can detect. The other ship...” She paused for a moment. “It's a Nausicaan raider, Jim,” she said then. “It's docked to the Lady's airlock.”

Jim cursed. “Nausicaan pirates, great. Can we get a life signs reading? And what's the status on the raider?”

“It's disengaging! They've seen us. Their shields are up, but their weapons are still off-line. Two life signs on board. Thirteen life signs on board the _Lady_ , three in the forward section, ten in the cargo hold.”

They were now drawing to within a couple hundred kilometres of the other two ships. 

“Incoming communication,” Uhura said, and then the lights flickered. Chekov and Gaila both made startled sounds. 

“Shields off-line! What...?” Chekov yelled at the same time that Uhura cursed. 

“It's not a communication, Jim! It's a virus!”

“It's fast!” Gaila added, voice rising. “Jim, it's tearing through the firewalls!”

She hadn't finished speaking when Jim was already on his feet and at her console in four long steps. She slid to the side and he started hammering commands into the console, flicked his eyes across the screens as warnings popped up. 

“Sulu, Gaila, Uhura, suit up, full EVA gear. Transport over to the _Lady_ , see what the status of the crew is. Chekov, get ready to kick that raider's ass. You've got helm and weapons, use your own judgement.”

There was a chorus of acknowledgements, and the women and Sulu ran out of the bridge, but Jim's focus was glued to the screens in front of him, lines of code scrolling past as he went right into the main systems. He growled. So they thought they could hack his bird? Well, they had another thing coming. He restored shields first, then went after the virus. The fucking thing was replicating itself, corrupting code as it went. Someone had clearly taken a lesson or two from nature. At least he didn't have to worry about life-support. Smart people kept that on a separate system. Jim was very smart. Still, shields, weapons, navigation and communications all needed to talk to the sensors, and therefore each other, to fly a spaceship, and he had his hands full keeping the nasty thing out of there.

~***~

Spock sat against the wall of the cargo bay and let Leonard fuss over the cut in his scalp. Blood was running down the side of his face, but it was far enough back not to impede his eyesight and he'd already constricted the blood vessels to slow it to a mere trickle. His hands rested between his legs, one on top of the other, arms loosely propped on his thighs, deceptively relaxed while he watched the pirates. Seven here, three more in some other part of the ship. While the odds were shifting with every step and turn the pirates took, he needed the element of surprise for any chance at success. Unfortunately, their two guards kept their disruptors firmly trained on him. They had correctly identified him as the largest threat, and didn't waver in their vigilance.

If he hadn't been too occupied with trying to reverse the effects of the virus in their systems, he might have been able to stop the physical invasion of their ship. However, what was, was. 

He would wait for his chance. They had not been killed outright. Therefore, it was logical to assume that they were considered part of the catch. 

There was sudden agitation among the group that was taking inventory of the cargo. The one Spock had identified as the likely leader had received a communication. From his body language, Spock extrapolated that it was not good news, and the other pirates appeared to agree with his assessment. 

Spock did a quick inventory of his body. Apart from the head wound which he'd sustained when his stunned body collapsed, he was uninjured. He kept his breathing deep, regular, saturated his tissues with oxygen. When the moment came, he would be ready.

The moment came. 

Three figures suddenly manifested in a swirl of energy in one corner of the cargo bay, weapons at the ready. Spock was already rolling to his feet as they took in the situation. All three of them were clad in EVA suits and he couldn't determine their identity, but their arrival had finally been enough to distract the guards. 

Spock sprang at the first one with all his considerable power. As he didn't know much about their physiology and their nervous systems, he didn't attempt a nerve pinch, but broke the man's neck right away. He did not have time for experiments, and most sentient species with heads didn't fare well without them. 

The first shots rang through the cargo bay as he grabbed the disruptor out of the hands of the slumping body. He attempted to shoot the second guard, but the man had noticed the new danger too soon and twisted out of the way, brought his own weapon up. Spock ducked the shot, dropped the weapon and came up within the man's reach, all too aware of the presence of Leonard and Scott behind him. One jab to the throat, a punch to the centre of the body, an elbow to the back of the neck. Bone crunched, and the body crumbled to the deck.

He crouched behind a cargo crate to assess the situation. 

Two of the new arrivals and four of the pirates were engaged in a fire fight, similarly seeking cover behind cargo boxes. New arrival number three disarmed the remaining pirate with a spinning kick to the disruptor as Spock looked, then pulled a long, slender sword from behind his back and neatly beheaded the pirate in one fluid motion. 

Spock raised an eyebrow at no one in particular in appreciation. 

He turned his attention to the status of the last four pirates. They were well covered by the crates and had been intelligent enough to put a wall at their back. Flanking them was not an option. Spock tilted his head and considered this stale mate. 

Leonard and Scott scooted up behind him, the disruptors of the dead guards in their hands. 

“Well, lad, what now?” 

“I haven't yet decided,” Spock answered absently. 

Meanwhile, the person with the sword ducked and wove their way over to the position of the other two. The sword was sheathed again behind his (most likely his) back and he pulled a disruptor instead. As soon as he had reached the position of his comrades, they started to advance, two people laying covering fire while the third made their way to the next bit of cover. 

“We shall follow their example,” Spock told Leonard and Scott. “We now have the advantage of numbers.”

“You don't have a weapon,” Leonard pointed out. 

Spock nodded. “I'll have to advance with one of you.”

Several disruptor blasts only missed them by millimetres as they advanced on the pirates' position. But with the other group coming in at an angle, the pirates had to split their fire between the two groups until they all fetched up against a particularly large stack of crates before a clear stretch of floor and the barricade of the pirates. 

The one with the sword came to a crouch next to Spock and flipped up his visor. He was indeed male, young, human, with Asian features. 

“Hikaru Sulu,” he introduced himself. “Are you all right?” His eyes flicked to Spock's hairline. 

“It's minor,” Spock replied. “What plan of attack do you suggest?”

Sulu grinned. “Three-pronged. One group left, one group right, and I'll go over, jump, come down on top of them.” He motioned to the top of the crates with his head. Spock considered the distance between their respective covers.

“I shall accompany you,” he informed Sulu.

Sulu considered him for a moment, dark eyes sharp, then nodded. They shared the plan around the group, and everyone crouched in readiness. Leonard, Spock could see from his expression, was not happy with Spock's decision to jump unarmed into the middle of a fire fight, but Spock calculated that his presence would considerably lower the risk to Sulu.

Sulu counted down from three with the fingers of one hand, and they leaped into action. While the others dove around the sides of the crates, disruptors firing, Sulu pulled himself up on top of the cargo crate, almost as high as he was tall, and then took a running jump over the gap, Spock right behind him, their boots thumping along the top of the crate. By the time the pirates noticed the new threat, Spock and Sulu were already leaping down between them. 

Spock ripped a disruptor from the hands of one man and threw it over the crates blindly while his other hand wrapped around the man's throat and crushed his air way. He tossed the choking pirate into an oncoming disruptor blast, jumped over the body and found himself in a furious hand-to-hand fight with the next pirate. He didn't know how Sulu was faring behind him, but he heard the sounds of fighting. 

Then Scott's head and torso appeared over the barrier, and he shot the pirate Spock was grabbling with. Spock nodded his thanks and turned around to find the other two pirates also dead on the floor as Sulu removed his sword from the chest of one of them. 

“Cargo bay and crew secured,” he said into the collar of his suit. “Going to go after the other three on the bridge and retake the ship.”

That was when the alarm started to blare from the speakers.

“Self-destruct sequence activated,” the computer informed them. “Self-destruct in five minutes. Self-destruct sequence activated. Self-destruct in four minutes forty-five seconds...”

Sulu cursed. “Self-destruct is active. Request immediate transport.”

Spock couldn't hear the reply, but moments later he felt the distinct, fluttery sensation of an engaging transport. 

He came back to himself on a transporter pad in a small, cramped transporter room with olive green walls. He quickly stepped off as the others materialized around him, and realized how heavy he felt, how solid. The artificial gravity on the ship was almost as high as that of Vulcan. He turned, to see Leonard grimace and Scott struggle visibly, while their rescuers showed no such effect. Helmets were removed, and he saw that one of their rescuers was the bartender, Uhura. The other was the Orion dancer if he wasn't very much mistaken. 

Uhura strode over to a console, stripped off her gloves and started typing. “I'll get the cargo,” she announced, eyes fixed on the screen under her hands. The ship around them trembled. Sulu broke into a jog out of the transporter room, and Spock followed after a quick look at his crew mates, who wouldn't be running at this gravity.

It had been one minute and forty-five seconds since the activation of the self-destruct when they reached the bridge. The stars were swirling across the view screen, the pirate ship swinging in and out of view, weapons firing. One young man was manning one of two consoles before the view screen. The captain's chair was empty, and Spock found Kirk at one of the rear stations, fingers flying across the screen, eyes narrowed.

Sulu leaped down and touched the pilot on the shoulder. As he looked up, Spock saw that he was even younger than he had thought, barely more than a child. But he moved over to the next console without question and Sulu, still in his EVA suit, took his seat. The Orion woman took the console next to the captain, who had yet to acknowledge their arrival. 

Spock stepped up as well, curious and willing to offer his help. 

Raw code was running across Kirk's screen in three different windows, and there was a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. Spock automatically sublimated his physical reactions to the man's proximity and focused on what he was doing. 

“C'mon, c'mon,” Kirk muttered feverishly as he entered line upon line of commands and code. They flew by so fast that it took Spock a few seconds to make sense of what Kirk was doing: he was hacking the _Silver Lady_ 's systems, was trying to take control of the virus. 

He was very nearly successful. As the minutes melted away, he worked his way deeper and deeper into the virus' programming. 

“Lemme _in_ , you nasty piece of shit, _come on_!” he growled as he typed and scrolled past hundreds of lines of code. Spock considered several approaches to helping, but he hadn't spent enough time with the virus to be familiar with it, and he concluded that any interference on his part was more likely to distract the captain and cost time rather than speed things up. 

As he was working, Uhura entered the bridge with Leonard and Scott behind her. Both of them were breathing heavy. Their eyes went to the view screen, where the stars and the gas cloud still flashed by as the two ships circled and rose and dipped as they tried to shoot the other and evade being shot themselves. Spock saw Leonard swallow. He had never been a friend of the more adventurous side of space travel. 

“ _Yes_!” Kirk hissed as he finally gained control of the virus, and the _Silver Lady_ 's command functions appeared on his screen. The self-destruct countdown read 0:02 and ran out even while Kirk's fingers darted for the screen to abort the sequence. 

Spock's eyes went to the view screen in time to witness the explosion as the main reactor overloaded.

“God _DAMNIT_!” Kirk slammed his fist down on the side of the console, hard. “Gaila, talk to me!” he barked. His whole body was tense with anger and frustration, his jaw hard. 

“All crew and most of the cargo on board, shields at 73%, Nausicaan raider in full retreat, all systems stable,” the Orion woman promptly reported. 

Sulu turned a bit in his seat, looked over his shoulder. “Captain?”

Kirk's eyes narrowed again. “Pursue and destroy.”

Sulu grinned at his captain. “Aye, aye.” 

Kirk had claimed that he had the best crew in the quadrant. Spock had assumed that this claim was just the sort of hyperbole humans were so prone to. While he did not have enough data to make the actual evaluation as to whether Sulu was the best pilot in the Alpha Quadrant, Spock could say with confidence that he was the best pilot he had ever flown with. In short order, he had caught up to the fleeing pirate ship and was easily pacing their evasive manoeuvres. 

“Overload their shields with the disruptors, then shove a photon torpedo up their ass,” Kirk ordered, eyes on the view screen. 

“With pleasure, Keptin!” the teenager on the console next to the helm answered, his Standard coloured by a strong accent. Four beams of disruptor power impacted with the aft shields of the raider, slid off as it went into a dive, bore down on it again as Sulu followed. The shields glowed with dissipating energy, and the raider dropped into a cork-screw motion, tried to evade again. 

“Oh mother of god,” Leonard moaned as Sulu followed again. However, the disruptor beams were back on target, and the raider's shields finally flickered and gave out. It went into a wild zigzag course. 

It swung left, right, up, down, across their screen. It lined up for only a moment, and a streak of light shot towards it, Spock felt the ship shiver under his boots. The torpedo impacted neatly with the aft-section of the raider, and Sulu smoothly arced them away as the raider turned into a fire ball for a brief moment before vacuum extinguished the flames and left behind floating pieces of wreckage. 

“The Nausicaan raider is destroyed as ordered, Keptin!” the teenager at navigation announced brightly.

A small smile briefly lightened Kirk's expression. “Good job, Pavel. Get us back on course for Alpha Centauri, will you? Gaila, I want full diagnostics on all systems.”

“Yes, Sir!” “Already on it,” both crew members replied in unison.

Kirk turned and his eyebrows rose as he seemed to notice Spock's proximity for the first time. For that matter, Spock realized that he was standing closer than was strictly polite. He inclined his head in apology and stepped back. Kirk's eyes followed him for a moment, studied him, then moved on to Leonard and Scott. He rose from his seat and strode over. 

“I'm sorry for the loss of your ship.”

Scott sighed. “It sure smarts, no doubt about it, but at least we're around for it to smart. And young Ms Uhura here did get all the cargo off that the pirates hadn't made off with already. Don't think anyone could've done better, under the circumstances.”

Kirk sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Another few seconds... Well.” He folded his hands behind his back. “We're back on course for the Alpha Centauri outpost and we'll get some quarters ready for you. You'll probably want to inventory your cargo, we can spare you a few PADDs. If you need anything else, just say the word.”

“Yeah, okay. Only... what's with the gravity?” Leonard asked with his usual bite.

Kirk arched his eyebrows at him. “I'm from Tarsus IV. This is normal gravity for me.” He shrugged. “But I suppose it's rather hard on you if you're not used to it. Gaila, set gravity to Earth-normal.”

“Thank you,” Scott said and Leonard nodded as Spock felt the gravity lighten. 

Kirk nodded. “Okay, enough excitement for today. Chekov, go get some rest. The rest of you, back to business as usual. I'll show our guests around.”

Kirk inclined his head in invitation, and they followed him, Spock bringing up the rear. 

He showed them the rec room, the cooking and replicator facilities, pointed out the way to the cargo bay and the engine room, and finally took them to the living quarters. 

“This is me,” he pointed to the first door on the left side of the corridor, “that's Gaila, that's Uhura,” two adjacent doors on the right side, “and that's Sulu and Chekov,” the door next to the captain's quarters. Spock raised an eyebrow and wondered whether the living arrangement was due to the youth of Chekov. But Kirk was already moving on. “The rest is free. Take your pick, not that there's much difference between rooms.”

He opened one of the doors to show them a room of fairly average size. It had a work area with a desk, an arched doorway, and another area in the back with a broad shelf, Spock assumed as a sleeping area. 

“Yeah, Klingons aren't much into all that comfort-shit, but we have mattresses and things in storage for that. Bathroom's the last door at the end of the corridor, on the right. No en-suites here, sorry. Any preferences on rooms?”

They picked the first free rooms on the left side of the corridor, and Kirk supplied them with the necessities. Afterwards, he took his leave, and they all met in Spock's room to discuss their situation. Of course, their situation was that they were stuck on Kirk's ship until they reached Alpha Centauri. The loss of the _Silver Lady_ meant that they were simultaneously out of their principal means of income, their home, their personal possessions, and most of their capital. At least they still had their cargo– and their lives and freedom, which in this day and age, was no little bit of good luck in itself. They would have to see how much they would get for their cargo at Alpha Centauri, and then plan their next steps. 

Spock and Leonard went to start on the inventory, after Leonard had cleaned and muttered over Spock's head wound, while Scott went to catch some well-deserved sleep.

~***~


	6. Chapter 6

The _Wrath of Isis_ was not a large ship, so they spent the next five days necessarily in close contact with Kirk and his crew. Spock could not help but appreciate this, as it gave him the opportunity to observe the captain further. He had to acknowledge that Kirk's actions during the attack on the _Silver Lady_ had impressed him. Despite his youth, Kirk had commanded his crew with efficiency and confidence, and his crew had obeyed with a professionalism that was not often seen on private ships. What was more, Kirk's programming skills appeared to be extraordinary for a human. From what he had seen, they were of a level with Spock's, and Spock had found that his own skills usually far surpassed those of the humans around him. 

So when he entered the dining area of the rec room two days later and found Kirk seated at one of the tables with a mug and a PADD, he didn't hesitate.

“May I join you?”

Kirk looked up at him in surprise, then smiled. “Sure.” He waved his stylus vaguely at the table and the opposite chair. Spock set down his tray and took the indicated seat. 

Kirk looked back down at his PADD, tapped the stylus at its edge for a moment and frowned. Then he blinked, set the PADD down on the table and turned the full force of those very blue eyes back on Spock.

“Sorry.”

“It wasn't my intention to disturb you,” Spock replied. 

“Naw.” Kirk waved it off. “Don't worry about it.”

“You appear... frustrated?” 

Kirk blinked, then laughed. “Yeah, I guess a little. It's just this virus...” He flicked the stylus at the PADD. “It's a nasty piece of work. Tears through firewalls like tissue paper, copies itself into every directory and subdirectory and takes over control of the infected system within minutes. It's a really clever piece of programming. And Nausicaan pirates are just not that clever. There's no way in hell or Klingon space they came up with this themselves. That means someone gave it to them. Which begs the question: why?”

Spock tilted his head, thought about what Kirk had said. He hadn't considered this, but Kirk's rationale was sound. 

“Have you tried to analyse the style of programming?”

“That's what I'm doing,” Kirk answered. “And see, here?” He flipped the PADD around so Spock could read it and pointed at a few highlighted lines of coding. “The way this is written? I think it's Orion.” He took a deep breath, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “If it _is_ Orion, and we're talking piracy, then it's likely this originated with the Syndicate. Do you have any enemies in the Orion Syndicate?”

Spock raised his eyebrows. “Not that I'm aware of.”

Kirk frowned. “So the Syndicate is giving out a highly effective weapon to Nausicaan pirates so they can raid random cargo ships with it? _Why_?”

Spock shrugged. “For profit? If the Syndicate takes a cut in exchange for the virus, this could be very lucrative.”

“True enough.” Kirk scrubbed one hand through his hair. “Of course, that would mean that the Syndicate have increased their sphere of influence _again_.”

“An Orion connection seems likely,” Spock said thoughtfully. “The pirates did not kill us despite my attempt at resistance. I had already assumed that this was because we were supposed to be part of the catch.”

“And the slave trade is controlled by the Syndicate.”

“Indeed.”

Kirk looked down at the PADD between them on the table. “God, I wonder how many copies of this thing are out there? Cargo ships get attacked all the time, but with this...”

“They gain the ship, the crew and the cargo with minimal risk of damage to their victims or themselves,” Spock summarised. 

Kirk nodded, then looked up and smiled again. 

“Your food is getting cold. Sorry, again.”

“I don't mind being engaged in less than frivolous conversation,” Spock informed him, but took a bite of his lunch before it did indeed cool down too much.

For whatever reason, this statement seemed to amuse Kirk. His lips curled up in a small, mischievous and most fetching grin, and there was a distinct glint in his eyes. 

“That's good. Tell me then, what do you think of the current state of affairs in the galaxy?” he asked with mock severity.

Spock chewed diligently while he considered the captain. Then he allowed his eyebrow to rise just a fraction. 

“I find it most curious how so many humans in it are inclined to believe that the galaxy revolves around their species, when it does, in fact, revolve most likely around a pair of super-massive black holes.” He made sure to keep his tone mild and genuinely puzzled.

Kirk burst into surprised laughter. It was a rich, genuine sound that filled the rec room and would've turned heads if there had been any present to turn. As it was, it afforded Spock an opportunity to study Kirk's throat and chest as he threw his head back. 

Still grinning broadly, Kirk leaned forward, crossed arms on the table. 

“Yeah, we're awful, aren't we?”

“Well... you do have some redeeming qualities.”

“Such as?” Kirk asked with a rise of his eyebrows, broad, curved and expressive in the human way. 

“You are quite attractive.” Spock paused for a beat, well-calculated, before he continued: “As a species.”

Kirk's grin transformed into something closer to a smirk. “Are you telling me the rest of the galaxy only likes us for our bodies?”

Spock flicked his eyes over what was visible of Kirk's body. “Well,” he prevaricated, “Perhaps not only. They are, however, very nice bodies.” He paused to take a small bite, chew and swallow. “Generally speaking, of course.”

Kirk's lips were twitching, his eyes bright with humour. He was really _very_ attractive when he was enjoying himself. 

“Of course,” he agreed smoothly. “My personal experience with most species certainly bears out your theory.”

“I am not surprised,” Spock informed him. 

Kirk leaned in further, the distance between them now almost intimate. His gaze was challenging, and cast up at Spock very effectively through his lashes. 

“And now that we've established that you find me attractive, where do we go from here?” 

Spock flicked a look over Kirk's shoulder to the entrance before meeting that blue gaze again, slightly darkened with intent now. 

“Now,” he answered and let his regret show, “we're about to be interrupted.”

Kirk cast a look over his own shoulder to see Leonard approaching their table. He shot a quick, conspiratorial grin at Spock before he turned to greet the doctor. 

Spock turned back to his meal and let Leonard take over Kirk's attention while he enjoyed the pleasant buzz of his flirtation with the captain. He allowed himself a deep feeling of satisfaction that Kirk had certainly not rejected his advances.

***

Unfortunately, Spock didn't find an opportunity to pick up his flirtation again before they arrived at the Alpha Centauri outpost.

The outpost was indeed, as Kirk had put it three weeks ago, one of the “sink holes of the galaxy”. No effort was expended to make the station attractive to visitors, dirt and grime covered the corridors, the light fixtures burned with a dim, sullen glow. The entertainment facilities offered dazzling arrays of prostitutes, intoxicating beverages and substances, and gambling opportunities– sometimes one establishment offered all three. 

Spock could honestly say that he did not like this place. It was hardly the first time he'd come into contact with the seedy side of the quadrant and he was confident in his ability to handle most situations that might arise, whether or not they were of a violent nature. Still, this station reeked of defeat, of a wilful quest by its inhabitants to drown their worries in self-destructive behaviours and habits. Spock didn't look forward to spending any amount of time here as they looked for new employment. And he was equally unconvinced of the quality of employment they might find here or with any of the crews that docked here regularly. 

First, however, they had cargo to deliver. 

Kirk joined them that morning as they sat around a table in the rec room and discussed the particulars. Leonard had sent a message to their buyer and had received an answer with a meeting place and time. 

“You need some backup?” Kirk asked as he pulled out a chair, turned it around and sat down with his arms crossed on top of the backrest. Spock raised an eyebrow at this peculiar way of using a chair, and Kirk gave him a small grin before he returned his attention to Leonard.  
Leonard made an indistinct noise in the back of his throat and scowled. 

“You got us here, so technically, you've fulfilled your part of the contract.”

Kirk shrugged. “Sure. But I don't like the look of this place, and if you don't sell your cargo, you can't pay me. So, it's really in my best interest to make sure your deal goes well.”

“Honestly?” Leonard sighed and slumped back in his chair. “Yeah, we could use some backup. It _looks_ like this meet with our buyer is genuine, but... I don't like the look of this place, either.”

Kirk nodded. “Well, that's settled, then. Me and the girls will go with you.”

Spock felt his brows arch. “Not Mr Sulu?”

Kirk shook his head. “Someone needs to keep an eye on the ship. Sulu and Chekov'll make sure no one makes off with her while our backs are turned. And trust me, you don't want to get on the wrong side of Gaila and Uhura. I know they don't _look_ like muscle, but they're bad-ass.” He smiled fondly. 

Spock inclined his head and accepted Kirk's word for it.

***

So it was that they arrived at the meeting place in one of the station's shuttle-bays with Kirk and half of his crew in tow. All of them were prominently armed. On closer inspection, Spock concluded that the knife in Kirk's belt was, without a doubt, a Klingon D'k tahg. The thought that he wouldn't have an opportunity to ask how the captain had acquired such a weapon if their paths parted after this sale was surprisingly troubling, and not just because his curiosity would go unsatisfied.

All three were wearing boot knives, hilts visible above the rims, and phasers in their belts. Kirk must have StarFleet connections to be able to acquire so many phasers. Gaila was also carrying a disruptor rifle half her size and Uhura had a short sword on her belt to balance out the phaser on the other side. 

Together, they were strikingly attractive, if well-armed. Spock had to admit to some sceptisicm as to their potential for intimidation. He also wondered whether attractiveness was a criterion by which Kirk selected his crew. 

However, in their company their number was doubled, and that alone was worth quite a lot, especially when they arrived to find that their buyer also had found it worthwile to arrive with an armed escort of three well-muscled males, one of them a seven-foot Orion. 

The two groups seized each other up warily until Leonard stepped forward. 

“Mr X'tau-Ravi?” 

“Yes, that's me,” the one unarmed, slender human male in the group spoke up. 

“Well, we've got your cargo. Or most of it, at least.”

“You've had losses?”

Leonard shrugged. “Bunch of pirates made off with a couple crates before we could stop them. Here's the inventory of what we still got on us.” Leonard handed over a PADD.

X'tau-Ravi's eyebrows rose as he surveyed the list of supplies. “This is...”

“More than you've gotten in the past six months,” Leonard pointed out drily. The man looked up, eyes large, and gestured a denial with his hands. “No, no, I wasn't trying to imply... that is to say, I only meant...”

“Yeah, okay,” Leonard interrupted quickly. “I was just pointing it out.”

“Yes, yes, of course. No, I'm very grateful for your efforts.”

The Orion guard gave a low laugh and commented something to his fellow guard. By his tone, Spock judged it was not complimentary. 

And once more, Kirk surprised him when he spoke up, in lilting Orion Prime, head turned towards Gaila next to him. Gaila laughed, and answered back with a toss of her head that sent her red curls sliding across her shoulders. Kirk threw a sharp grin at the Orion guard across from them, who did look gratifyingly surprised. Then he leered at Kirk, said something else, and Kirk laughed, raised an eyebrow and leered back with another comment. It appeared the captain was not afraid to flirt with an Orion who towered above him by at least a foot and outweighed him two to one. 

This conversation seemed to satisfy the obligatory need for grand-standing that so many aggressive species indulged in, and the negotiations could get under way. After ten long minutes of wrangling, they transported the supplies into the shuttle-bay and Leonard accepted a generous credit chip. The price he'd accomplished was steep, but considering the risks of delivery, more than fair. It certainly did not cover the loss of their ship, but it would be enough to see them through the immediate future, even with Kirk's remaining payment deducted. 

As they made their way back to the _Wrath of Isis_ to collect their meagre belongings, Spock fell in next to Kirk. 

“You speak Orion Prime?”

Kirk, as Spock had by now come to expect, grinned. “Sure do.”

“I assume it is beneficial for your business.”

“That too,” Kirk told him lightly. “Also means I get to enjoy the best porn in the galaxy in its original.”

Spock cocked his eyebrow. “You've learned an entire language for the purpose of watching pornography?”

Kirk nodded. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“What did the Orion say?”

“Hm, let me see. He made some comment about how his employer was negotiating like the retarded child of a brain-dead whore and a tribble, and how otherwise, they could totally take us.” Kirk motioned vaguely at their group. “So I said to Gaila how sad it was that all that gladiator fighting might've made his cock grow but killed what few braincells he had. I mean, she was right there, he had to know that she, at least, would understand him. So then he said something along the lines of 'Oh, the bitch and the pretty slave-boy can speak!', though you're missing all the nuance with that translation. What he called Gaila and me really referred to sex slaves he would want to fuck, and the verb he used for 'speak' implied that we were holding opinions above our stations and were in need of discipline. So I told him that he was welcome to try, but if he got his cock near this pretty slave-boy's ass without an invitation, I'd rearrange his face for him.” Kirk shrugged. “And that was that.”

Spock frowned. “I hadn't realized the conversation was this aggressive.”

Kirk looked at him in surprise. “It wasn't.” He tilted his head. “I suppose it sounds worse than it was in Standard. Thing is, Orion is a very sexy language.” He smirked. “He was a little insulting, sure, but mostly he said he wanted to fuck me, and I insulted him back and then told him he could if he asked nicely. So, yeah, just a bit of bluster and flirting.”

“Does flirting in Orion usually include threats of sexual violence?”

Kirk opened his mouth, blinked, and chuckled. “It does frequently, actually. But...” He made a helpless gesture. “Orions can be a little on the kinky side, but there's a difference between tough talk and reality. This guy...” Kirk waved a hand over his shoulders, approximately in the direction they came from. “He wasn't using slaver talk. It's a different vocabulary, a different inflection.”

“I'll have to bow to your expertise in the matter,” Spock replied. 

Kirk rewarded him with a smile. “Or you could, you know, learn Orion.”

“I could,” Spock agreed. “Though I'm unsure the language appeals to me.”

“What? The thought of watching gratuitous porn to further your education doesn't appeal to you?” For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Kirk sounded something close to scandalized. 

Spock raised his shoulders in a minute shrug. “I admit that watching a recording of paid actors pretending to enjoy sexual intercourse has never struck me as particularly arousing.”

“But that's why Orion porn is so awesome!” Kirk answered, eyes bright and, as far as Spock could tell, honestly intent on his subject. “All the sex is real. Also, Orions _know_ sex. It's not just people fucking. It's erotic, it's _art_. And!” His voice indicated the gravity of his announcement. “It's got _plot_. No, really, it _does_ ,” he insisted, though Spock wasn't aware his expression had been doubtful. “And that's the part you always lose in translation, because the difference between 'to look at' as said to a lover and 'to look at' as said to the wife you've married for status just doesn't translate and then of course it makes no sense why she would go out and find herself a lover, too, and it just goes from there. So you see, you need to really watch it in the original to properly appreciate it.” His eyes crinkled. “I can provide you with plenty of material if you want to give it a try.”

Spock felt his lips curl in a smile quite without his volition. “I'm sure you can.”

“So tell me then, Mr Spock, if you don't like porn, how do you keep yourself entertained on these long, lonely space voyages?” 

“So far, my imagination has proven adequate to the task.”

Kirk grinned, wicked and delighted. “Has it now? What about your crew mates? McCoy's pretty hot.”

“He is also attracted exclusively to humanoid females.” And the affection Spock held for him was of the familial kind, what he might have felt had he had a human older brother rather than a Vulcan one. 

“Aw, shame,” Kirk said with something Spock could only title a pout. He had a strong, momentary impulse to lean over and kiss that expression. The intensity of the urge surprised him and he needed 0.2 seconds to turn his thoughts away from Kirk's mobile, generous lips. 

“What about you, Mr Spock? Are you only partial to humanoid females?”

“While I've found so far that I do prefer a humanoid body shape, gender doesn't matter much to me.” Spock arched his eyebrow very deliberately. “And you, Captain Kirk? Do you have any preferences?”

Kirk chuckled, low in his chest. “If it fucks back, I'll fuck it. At least once.” He graced Spock with another one of his wicked grins. Spock marvelled at how a facial expression could be so charged with sexual intent and yet be devoid of any threat. It was an invitation, not a violation.

“You have never met a species you found fundamentally unappealing?” Spock asked, fascinated. 

“I've met plenty of unappealing _individuals_ ,” Kirk answered, “but I've never turned someone away on grounds of their... biological configuration.”

“Fascinating,” Spock said. Kirk gave him a look that was part puzzled and part amused. “Most species are predisposed to be attracted to those similar to themselves. Quite logical in terms of evolution and procreation. You appear to be an exception,” Spock elaborated readily. 

Kirk laughed again. “I guess I am at that.”

Their group went to the rec room by unspoken agreement when they reached the ship again. 

“Thank you for your services, Captain Kirk,” Leonard said formally and handed Kirk a credit chip. Kirk scanned it, nodded, and tucked it away in one pocket. 

But he said “A moment before you go, if you don't mind,” before they could make their farewells. He looked at each of them in turn as they regarded him questioningly. Kirk tucked his hands in his pockets. 

“I don't know what your plans are from here on out, but I've talked to the rest of the crew, and I want to extend an invitation to join us.”

“Join you?” Leonard asked, surprised. 

Kirk shrugged. “We could use a few more hands around here. We could certainly use people with your qualifications, and I'm sure you're well aware that it's as hard to find reliable crew as it is to find a reliable captain to hire on with. Especially on this piece of space trash.” He gestured towards the general direction of the station outside. “Interested?”

“That depends,” Leonard said. “What are the terms of employment with you?”

Kirk smiled a little, as if he appreciated the question. “Well, we've got a few rules around here. First: It's my ship, I'm the captain. What I say goes. Don't get me wrong, I welcome your opinions and suggestions, but if I give you an order, I expect you to follow it. Second: You don't wilfully endanger the ship or crew members. I won't have sabotage, back-stabbing, rape or murder under my watch. We've got a hierarchy for day-to-day business but when it comes to rights, every member of this crew is equal and entitled to respect.”

“Jeez, kid!” Leonard burst out. “No one here's planning to rape or murder anyone!”

Kirk inclined his head. “If I had reason to believe you were likely to, I wouldn't invite you to join. Still, I don't want any misunderstandings on that front. I've _had_ trouble along those lines with new hires before.”

“Jeez,” Leonard grumbled again with a shake of his head. 

“Well, glad we're on the same page on that one,” Kirk said dryly. “Third, the money: seventy percent of all earnings go into an account for the ship itself. The other thirty are split evenly among all crew members.”

“ _Seventy_ percent?” Leonard exclaimed. “That's a lot!”

Kirk nodded. “Yes, it is, I know. Especially since I'm sole owner and not giving out shares. But at the end of the day, the ship is what keeps us alive, and this isn't a cargo operation. The _Wrath_ is a warship, and we're using her as one. That means more risk, more equipment, more maintenance, more repair. The job pays well, much better than cargo running, and there's never a shortage of customers, but the condition of the ship has to come first. You'll all be able to access the account data, see for yourself that the money does, in fact, go to the ship and not to my own entertainment. And at the end of every year, if there's money left over in the ship account, it gets split fifty-fifty, and everyone who's been on the crew for more than six months gets an equal share of those fifty percent surplus. Consider it an end-of-the-year bonus, and in a good year, it can be again as much as we already made.”

Spock saw Scott nod out of the corner of his eye, and he knew the man approved of Kirk's focus on the welfare of the ship itself. For that matter, Spock approved. It was a far more responsible strategy of handling the ship than he was used to from most captains.

“Don't the current crew members object that with our addition, their share of the earnings will diminish?” Spock asked, but Kirk shook his head. 

“With more people, we can earn more money. And while we _can_ run the ship with five people, it's really not ideal. Everyone's lives will be easier with more people on the crew and that's worth a little drop in pay, if it comes to that.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Leonard said. “So what happens when someone breaks those rules of yours?”

“First, I'll warn you,” Kirk answered comfortably. “Then I'll confine you to quarters. If all else fails, I'll kick you off the crew, drop you at the nearest reasonably safe location with your private things and your share of the money. Nothing worse than that.” He spread his hands. “You might be able to tell, but I learned the trade from an ex-Fleet captain, and that's how I run my ship. Most of the old StarFleet regs are either unnecessary for an operation this size or don't apply without an entire quadrant-wide organisation behind them, but all the ones that I found useful apply on this ship. If you sign on, you'll get a copy and I'll expect you to be familiar with them. So, are you interested?”

“Could you give us a moment?” Leonard asked and Kirk nodded, smiled. 

“Sure. I'll be over there.” He waved towards the other end of the room and walked off to drop himself on the sofa positioned against the wall there, picked up a PADD that was lying on the cushion next to him. 

“Well?” Leonard asked in a low voice. “What do you think?”

“Oh, I'm in,” Scott said. “Absolutely. This is one fine ship. Spock?”

Spock nodded. “I agree.”

Leonard heaved a great sigh. “He's just so damn young!”

“And yet he has proven himself to be highly capable,” Spock pointed out. 

“I see the way you look at him,” Leonard said accusingly. “You still want into his damn pants!”

Spock couldn't help a small smile. “Certainly,” he agreed calmly. “However, are we likely to find a better opportunity?”

“Not here.” Scott shook his head in disgust. “Slavers and pirates, that's the sort we can hope to sign up with in this place. And the lad's young, aye, but I've seen no sign that he's either of those two. Frankly, I'll take young Captain Kirk there over half the captains I've served with so far, any day. He's got a bright head on his shoulders, and, what's more in the quadrant in this day and age, he's got his priorities straight. Trusts his crew, treats the ladies with respect, speaks his mind, doesn't mind doing his share of the heavy lifting. Saw him half-way in the wall conduits just the other day, down on the floor, grime all over his pretty face, filthy as any engineer and just as happy to be so. I'd rather trust my life to him than to any of the strangers we're goin' to meet here.”

“Dear God.” Leonard scowled. “You're _both_ gone on the kid.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, and Leonard threw his hands up.

“Yes, yes, you're right! If he's learned his trade Fleet-style like he says, this is the best damn crew to join we'll find here, or in half the quadrant for that matter. I can't say I'm too happy about this escort line of business, and no one better expect me to do any pole-dancing, but if the two of you agree, I say let's join up. Least we'll have a roof over our heads and get off this godforsaken tin can of a space station.”

Thus agreed, they accepted Kirk's invitation to join his crew. 

Kirk's entire face lit up with his grin. “Awesome!” He held out his hand for Leonard and Scott to shake, and nodded at Spock. “In that case, here you go.” He handed each of them a credit chip. “Welcome to the crew.” 

Puzzled, Spock examined the chip. It held 75 credits. He did some quick mental calculations and looked at his new captain. 

“This is the money we just gave to you.”

“Well, it's your share of it, yes.”

“Technically, you earned this money before we joined your crew.”

Kirk waved his objection away. “Consider it a welcome-to-the-crew present. Is there anything you still need to do here?” They declined. “Great!” Kirk clapped his hands. “Let's blow this popsicle stand!”

Kirk marched out of the rec room, towards the bridge, and Spock looked questioningly at Leonard as he followed. He had grown rather used to Standard's plenti- and colourful idioms and metaphors, but this one escaped him. Leonard saw his look and chuckled. 

“Dear god, that's an old one! It had a bit of a revival when I was a kid on Terra, but I thought it'd disappeared again. It means 'Let's get out of here'.”

Spock nodded his understanding. “What is a 'popsicle'?”

“It's a sweet. Frozen bar of fruit juice. They had traditional ones in my home town, on a wooden stick and all.” Leonard sounded wistful. 

“I would appreciate an opportunity to try one,” Spock observed. “It sounds... luxurious.”

At this, Leonard gave him a surprised look. “Luxurious?”

Spock shrugged. “On a desert world, fruit is too precious to be used only for its juice, and freezing requires too much energy for use on something as frivolous as sweets.”

“Well, if I ever see any, I'll buy you one,” Leonard said, slapping his shoulder.

On the bridge, Kirk dropped himself into the captain's chair in his habitual sprawl, one leg slung over an armrest, and flicked a button on the other armrest. 

“This is your captain, please be advised we're leaving Alpha Centauri outpost momentarily, next stop Starbase 17. Also, I'm pleased to announce that our former passengers have agreed to join the crew. Please welcome Dr McCoy, Mr Scott and Mr Spock. Party in the rec room at 1300 hours, there'll be booze, attendance mandatory. Set your alarms, people. Kirk out.”

He turned towards the helm. “We good to go?”

“Course laid in, Captain, dock control reports ready,” Sulu confirmed. 

“Take us out, Sulu.”

“Aye, Captain.”

They veered away from the outpost, and Spock wasn't sad to see it swing out of view. Once they had gained enough distance, Kirk told Sulu “Punch it,” and the _Wrath of Isis_ slid smoothly into warp with hardly a tremor. It was, as Scott had said, a fine ship. 

“Alright then,” Kirk said, standing from the captain's chair and stretching. “I'll see you at the party, and we can talk particulars then, yeah?”

“You're seriously having a party while we're within spitting distance of Klingon space?” Leonard asked incredulously. 

Kirk just waved a hand. “Oh, don't worry, we're not leaving the bridge unattended, and there won't be enough alcohol to get drunk for real.” He grinned. “We'll save that for when we're back at Station 17.”

“Your style of captaining is certainly unique,” Spock told him. 

“Why, thank you, Mr Spock!” Kirk beamed. “I always strive to keep my crew entertained.” And he winked at Spock and sauntered off the bridge. Spock couldn't help but appreciate the view. 

“Honestly!” Leonard growled. “He's worse than you, Spock. Mad as march hares, the both of you! You take up with that one, kid, and God have mercy on all of us!”

Spock raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, don't give me that look! Parties, right next door to the Klingons! Next thing you know, he's gonna invite Nero himself!” Grumbling more dire predictions and unflattering commentary on everyone else's sanity, Leonard stormed off. 

Spock found himself smiling, a deep feeling of affection for Leonard suffusing his chest. Scott chuckled next to him. “He's something else, our new captain– and our doctor, too, aye. C'mon, Spock my lad, lets see whether the captain has gotten us those regulations yet he was talking about, and if he has, you can read them and tell me all the important bits.”

***


	7. Chapter 7

When they arrived at the rec room at the specified hour, they found the captain and Uhura already in evidence, seated comfortably on one of the couches at the end of the room, deep in conversation. Kirk looked up at their entrance and waved them over.

“Pull up a few chairs, have a seat.” He waited until they had all done so. 

“Now, if you've had a look at the regs already, you know that most of us are working several positions at once. Uhura here's my first officer and communications officer, Sulu and Chekov share piloting, tactical and navigation, and Sulu's also security officer, Gaila's the science officer and also shares engineering and supply with me. In short, I'm really glad to have you guys on board.” He grinned at them, wryly. “So, McCoy, you're a doctor, right?”

Leonard nodded. “Sure are, ki... Captain.”

Kirk laughed. “'Captain' 's for the bridge. Off the bridge and an active engagement, you can call me whatever you want, just as long as you follow my orders when it counts. You're welcome to call me Jim, though.”

“Jim.” Leonard nodded. “I've done medicine on spaceships for the past eighteen or so years, and I'm certified as a doctor by the Terra Nova Science Academy.”

“Good enough for me,” Kirk said. “Consider yourself CMO. Sickbay's all yours. If you need a hand at some point, we all have at least basic first aid training, but Sulu's the closest we've got to a medic. And, Mr Scott...”

“Ye can call me Scotty, if ye want. Everyone does– well, everyone 'xcept Spock here.”

“Scotty, then. Gaila tells me you're interested in engineering?”

Scott nodded eagerly. “Aye, that's so. Ye've got a mighty fine ship here, but I gotta tell ye, her engines could use a little TLC, if ye know what I mean.”

Kirk smiled. Apparently he did know what Scott meant. “Go nuts. Gaila and I did our best, and we can keep her up and running, sure, but we're really more interested in the software end of things. I'm naming you chief engineer. Take a look around, write a list of what you think you need, and we'll talk about it. That goes for you, too, McCoy. Sickbay is probably in pretty bad shape, since we didn't have much use for the more specialised equipment. 

Now, Mr Spock...”

Kirk's ever so blue eyes fixed on his. Spock tilted one eyebrow fractionally and Kirk's lips curled in a slight smile in response and Spock found himself surprised by the strong feeling of understanding, of non-verbal communication, he experienced. 

“Security?” Kirk asked, and Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement. Kirk had correctly surmised his previous role, and he had no objection to continuing in that capacity. He was good at it. He had other talents, certainly, but ever since he had met up with Leonard and Scott, his role had been that of muscle. He was the fighter, the protector. It was the gift the desert had bestowed on him. 

“Then the armoury and the post of Chief of Security is yours.” Kirk leaned back, grinned at all of them. “Welcome to the crew, again, and I've got a great feeling about this.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now, let's get this party started!”

This, it appeared, involved a generous helping of alcohol for each of them, despite Kirk's assurances that full intoxication was not the goal.

They were shortly joined by Sulu and Chekov, who arrived together. Spock observed the way Sulu's hand rested in the small of the young human's back, and revised his hypothesis as to why they shared a cabin. Chekov was especially enthusiastic about the alcohol and took such a large swallow that Leonard stared at him in consternation. 

“Christ, how old are you anyway, kid?”

“I'm fifteen, Sir,” Chekov announced brightly. Even Spock blinked at that. 

“ _Fifteen_? FIFTEEN?!” Leonard turned on Kirk. “You've got a fifteen-year-old on your spaceship?? Drinking moonshine?!”

Kirk shrugged. “I was in space by fifteen, and trust me, I was drinking quite a bit before that.” He smirked. 

“I was fifteen as well when I joined you,” Spock felt compelled to point out. From the look Leonard gave him, his input was not appreciated. 

“Yeah, well, I don't know what your parents were thinking, Kirk, and you, Spock, are a bit of a genius. Also, you weren't drinking, not on my watch!”

“Oh, Chekov's a genius, too,” Kirk informed them. 

“You let him fire _photon torpedoes_.”

Kirk nodded and smiled brightly. “Yeah. He's very good at it.”

“Also I am from New Siberia,” Chekov spoke up with all the dignity at his disposal. “I haf been drinking since I was very little child. It is good for you. It makes your blood strong and hot.” He toasted them with his glass before he took another big swallow, while Leonard stared at him. 

Spock regarded the young man with renewed respect. The New Siberia Colony was infamous for its hard climatic conditions, similar to those of the former Terran region it was named for. It also explained his strong accent. 

“ _Jesus_ Christ! If I never hear of another stupid backwater colony and their stupid backwater superstitions...!”

Kirk's lips were twitching while Chekov looked rather indignant. 

“Is he always this grumpy?” Kirk asked Spock, amused.

“Indeed he is,” Spock informed him gravely.

***

Spock leaned back against the cushions in the corner of the couch he found himself on 2.45 hours later, stretched out his legs and observed the interactions around him as he took a careful sip of his second glass of alcohol.

He was certain that joining Kirk's crew had been the right decision, yet their acquaintance was only a few short weeks old, and most of that time they had spent on separate ships, their interactions limited to subspace communications and restricted by the positions of employers and contractors. The days they had spent as guests on the _Wrath_ had given him confidence that Kirk was an honourable man. Yet, he was aware that he hadn't been privileged to the uncensored interactions of the personalities on the crew. 

Uhura was clearly a dominant personality. Her position as First Officer and the lack of formality with which she treated Kirk said as much. Her behaviour towards Spock and his crew had been unfailingly polite, almost friendly, but she kept a certain distance, a fact Spock could respect.

Now, as the party progressed, Spock could observe as the interactions became less inhibited, as Kirk's crew members, now also Spock's, shed their consciousness of being observed by strangers. The alcohol certainly helped with that, and so did the captain himself. 

Spock had to admit that this party was an effective way of encouraging their integration into the crew. 

Kirk was smiling, charming, deceptively open. Spock was cautiously certain that the man did not, in fact, live out his every emotion for the world to see as thoughtlessly as it seemed, but rather that every word and smile and gesture was intentional, their impact on his surroundings well-calculated. Spock had witnessed multiple times now how Kirk was using his sizeable assets in terms of youth and attractiveness to make himself seem harmless, no threat, and yet he had also seen how easily Kirk assumed authority, how easily he slid from friendly and easy-going, inviting confidences, to commanding. 

At this very moment, he was relaxed, apparently entirely unselfconscious as he slung an arm around Uhura, moved himself into her personal space. She rolled her eyes, but, a little to Spock's surprise, allowed it, allowed herself to be pulled into the captain's side in a way that indicated their relationship was far more intimate than Spock had so far assumed. She also gave Kirk a quick, sharp, intelligent look that led Spock to the conclusion that she was perfectly aware that the captain was quite on purpose encouraging a higher level of disclosure. After another moment, she shifted enough to throw one long leg across Kirk's knees and slung her arm around his shoulder, painted nails resting lightly against the bare skin of his neck. Kirk shifted a little into the touch, tilted his head with a small, satisfied smile. Spock saw Leonard's eyes widen as Uhura smirked at him, just a little, across Kirk's lap. Kirk didn't acknowledge the exchange and simply continued in his discussion of warp core mechanics with a similarly astonished Scott. 

Evidently, this served as a sort of signal, as not long after, Chekov leaned over to kiss Sulu.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Leonard said. His skin was flushed, his motions loose with the influence of the alcohol. “I thought he's _fifteen_. And... wait, don't you two share a room?”

“Do not start! Do not say another word!” Chekov cried. “I haf worked very hard to convince Hikaru that I am not a child. You will not make him...” Chekov waved his hands, obviously searching for a word. 

“Feel like the dirty cradle robber he is?” Kirk suggested with a smirk. 

Chekov gave him a dirty look, surprisingly effective on his young features. Kirk laughed. 

“Relax, Pavel. Now that you got him into your bed, I'm pretty sure you can keep him.” 

“Thanks, Jim,” Sulu muttered.

“Anytime. God knows I would've jumped you when I was fifteen.”

Uhura laughed, bright and clear. “Jim, if it moves you'd jump it. That's hardly saying much.”

“I'll have you know that I have standards, too,” Kirk pointed out mildly. “Just because I like sex doesn't mean I'd sleep with _anyone_.”

“I suppose,” Uhura agreed. “Still, your standards are rather... broader than those of most people.”

“What can I say?” Kirk shrugged. “I'm an adventurous guy.”

“Did you really go with that...” Chekov waved a hand again, “being we met in that bar on Sirius IX?”

“Lath Dav Reovole the Lish-Ma-Huun? Oh, hell, yes, I went with him.”

“But he had...” 

“Tentacles?” Kirk smirked. “He sure did. And, boy, did he ever know what to do with them.”

“Okay,” Leonard said and grimaced. “Too much information. _Really_.”

Kirk laughed. “How can you have been in space for most of your life and be this squeamish about a little inter-species sex?”

“It's not the inter-species part,” Leonard grumbled. “Though, yeah, tentacles are a bit much.”

“What? Don't tell me you have some irrational prejudice against males having sex with other males?” Kirk's tone was still light, but his eyes sharpened. Leonard, however, just gave him his patented frown of disapproval. 

“Trust me, kid, I couldn't care less who puts what up your ass. I just don't want to _know_ about it! Who you have sex with is your business, but sex is... private. It's got no business being shared around like this.” He indicated their group with a little circle of the bottom of his glass. 

“Don't kiss and tell?” Leonard nodded, still frowning, and Kirk chuckled. “Aw, that's sweet. You're quite the gentleman, Dr McCoy.” Leonard frowned more severely if anything. “No, really,” Kirk said. “I'm not having you on, I respect your position. It's just...” He shrugged. “What I did with Lath was just sex. Pure recreation, a good time was had by all, that sort of thing. It's the sort of thing you can brag about, and if I tell you exactly how good Lath's tentacles felt going up my ass, I'm sure he wouldn't mind. I sure don't mind if he tells half the galaxy what we did. It didn't... _mean_ anything, not beyond some friendly fun. It'd be a totally different thing if we were emotionally involved. Do you know what I mean?”

Leonard grimaced again. “Maybe I do. Still doesn't change the fact that I don't want details, thanks.”

“I do,” Chekov spoke up and he certainly looked interested. 

“Me too,” Uhura said and directed a sly smile at Kirk. 

Leonard groaned and Scott patted him on the shoulder. “Well, my friend, I gotta admit this is a little too wild for me, too. How 'bout we go take a turn on the bridge so young Gaila can enjoy some of this party, too, and the young folks can have their talk.”

Leonard nodded quite decisively and pushed to his feet. “Great idea, Scotty. What about you, Spock?”

Spock suddenly found himself the centre of attention. 

“I see no reason to leave at this time,” he said and took another sip of his drink. Kirk shot him a quick, pleased smirk. 

“Fine,” Leonard grumbled. “We'll be on the bridge, then.”

Kirk toasted them with his glass. “Thanks. Gaila certainly won't want to miss this conversation.” He winked at them. “We'll see you guys later.”

Spock settled back into his corner of the couch a little, aware of the occasional glances the other crew members cast his way, but quite comfortable where he was. He wasn't inclined to actively join in the conversation, but he was certainly inclined to listen to it, and not all of that was sexual curiosity. He felt rather... accepted here. Certainly there was still much trust to build before they would be able to reach optimal levels of team work, but as had happened twelve years ago with Leonard and Scott, he felt that these people were willing to give him a chance to earn that trust. It was a very pleasant feeling, one he hadn't experienced to this degree since those days in the desert. He had met a great many people of different species since then, but none had felt this... right. It wasn't logical, but Spock valued his instincts, trusted them, and so he took another sip and turned his attention to the conversation as Gaila arrived. The Orion woman settled down on the other side of Kirk, put her arm along the back of the couch behind him and smiled impishly at the captain while she accepted a glass from Chekov.

“So I hear we're talking about tentacle sex?”

***

“Jim,” Nyota reprimanded him.

Jim blinked, dragged his gaze from the smooth, glossy fall of her hair to her face. “What?”

“Alright, what's the matter with you? You're not paying attention.”

“I am,” he protested. 

Her eyebrows arched. “I'm about to have my hand between Gaila's legs and you're not even watching.”

Jim blinked once more, ran his eyes along the two women sprawled on his bed, and realized that Nyota was right. Her hand was resting below Gaila's navel, brown against green, and yeah, he should be watching that. 

“Sorry?”

Gaila laughed and winked. “Don't worry about it.”

Nyota rolled her eyes, disentangled herself from behind Gaila, and crawled over both of them so she could stretch out on Jim's other side, head propped on one slender arm. 

“So what has you so distracted?”

Jim pushed up on his elbows to press a kiss against her lips, shifted his weight so he could reach out one arm for Gaila. Nyota kissed him back, briefly, then pushed him back down with a hand on his shoulder, just as Gaila rolled up on his other side. Her breasts were soft against his chest, her hand warm on his stomach. She pressed a kiss to his cheek with a little laugh. 

“Nyota wants to know, which means she'll make you tell her. You could just give up now,” she suggested. 

Nyota threw one long, bare, shapely leg over his, traced a sharp, well-manicured nail down his chest, and smiled. It was her dangerous smile.

Jim looked from one woman to the other, fighting a smile of his own, rolled his eyes at them, and relaxed back into his pillows. 

“It's Spock,” he admitted with a sigh. 

Nyota hummed and traced his collarbones with her fingers. “What about him?”

“I can't stop thinking about him,” Jim groaned. 

“He's very attractive,” Gaila observed. 

Nyota nodded her agreement and looked at him quizzically. “Yes he is, as we all can see. So what's the problem? From the way he's been eyeing you since the day you decided to meet your clients while dancing on a pole, I'd say your attraction is mutual.”

Jim gave her a playful scowl. “It was just practical to meet them during my break, ok? Also, do you have a problem with how I earn my extra credits?”

She smirked. “No, Jim. We all appreciate the way you earn your extra credits. Spock definitely appreciated it. He barely spared Gaila a glance.”

Jim sighed again. “The problem's not that he doesn't want me. Hell, he's been flirting with me for the past two weeks. He pretty much came right out and said he finds me attractive.”

“So?” Nyota sounded confused. “Why aren't you fucking him?”

Jim ran a hand over his face, stared up at the support struts on the ceiling. “I don't know, but don't you think it may be, I dunno, a _bad_ idea to spread my legs for a freakin' _Romulan_ I've known for all of four weeks?”

“ _Is_ he a Romulan?” Gaila asked thoughtfully. 

Jim frowned at her. “What else _could_ he be? I mean, with those ears and those eyebrows, he's vulcanoid, and he sure as hell isn't a Vulcan.”

“That's true,” Gaila conceded. “Still, he seems very... _stable_ , for a Romulan.”

“Sure... which doesn't change the fact that he could, you know, break me in half. It's one thing to talk to him, or have lunch with him, or whatever, and quite another to trust that he won't break bones or tear me apart when we're in the middle of sex.”

Nyota cocked her head. “You _did_ hire him. Why would you do that if you don't trust him?”

Jim growled in frustration. “I do... I _want_ to trust him. I have no reason not to trust him. And he and McCoy and Scotty were kinda a package deal, at least I got the impression. Also, _those_ two sure seem trustworthy, so I'm assuming they know what they're doing when they hang out with Spock. Only, they're humans, and they're a doctor and an engineer, for crying out loud, so I trust in my ability to put them down should it come to that. I'm not at all sure I could take Spock, especially not when he's close enough to fuck me and I'm naked and therefore unarmed.”

Gaila giggled and gave him a very naughty smile. “While your concerns are valid, it seems to me that the rest of you thinks all of that is in Spock's favour.” She cast a sly look down towards where, yeah, at least parts of Jim's anatomy approved.

Nyota laughed as well while Jim groaned. “I find it amusing how much topping isn't even a question for you,” she said with another of her sly smiles.

“Well, I wouldn't say no...” Jim pointed out. 

Nyota snorted. “Of course not. But what you really want is his cock up your ass.”

Jim moaned at the words, especially when Gaila's fingers started sliding down his stomach. Nyota laughed at him a little. “You can be such a sub,” she teased. 

“So?” Jim answered, a little short of breath since Gaila's fingers had stopped their progress to tease at the trail of hair just beneath his navel. “I mean, have you seen the man? Those shoulders, those _legs_... and all in that freakin' black synleather! And yesterday...” Jim swallowed hard at the memory. “Yesterday I ran across him in the bathroom, and he just came out of the shower, which means, yeah, he was fucking _naked_ , and I almost died right then and there. He's got to have the most perfect cock I've ever seen, and even if it doesn't grow another millimetre when he puts it to use, I sure wouldn't be complaining.” He shot a look at Nyota, and yeah, he knew it was probably a little wild-eyed. “Yeah, you bet I wanna get me under that.”

Nyota smiled and shifted a little closer. “So how exactly would you like to get yourself under that?”

“Why, Nyota,” Jim laughed, “are you asking me to tell you about my Spock-fantasies?”

She smiled, bright and sharp. “Yes, Jim. That's exactly what I'm asking.” She leaned down to whisper in his ear, her fingers trailing along his opposite shoulder. “Do share with us, if it's distracting you so much. It's really the least you can do.”

She did have a point, Jim had to admit. It wasn't very polite of him to zone out on them when they were putting on a show just for his benefit. 

“Yeah, Jim, do tell,” Gaila agreed and stroked her hand to the side so she could caress his hip, his thigh. She leaned in to kiss the middle of his stomach, lick the spot, move down a centimetre to repeat the gesture. Her curls tumbled down over one shoulder, tickled his side.

Jim groaned in surrender. If the girls decided to double-team him, he didn't stand a chance.


	8. Chapter 8

A week into their journey back to Station 17, Spock had to admit he was somewhat puzzled. He had, at the earliest opportunity, resumed his flirtation with his new captain, and the captain had certainly been amenable. Yet there was a line that Kirk repeatedly drew back from, the line that raised the possibility of actually, physically, doing something about what had been only verbal recreation so far. So, yes, while Kirk was happy to flirt, and flirt heavily, he adeptly side-stepped the possibility of actually sleeping with Spock. 

And that, Spock thought, didn't quite make sense. True, his observations indicated that flirting was an integral part of the captain's discourse at any given time, with anyone. However, the data he had gathered so far, from conversations and observation, also indicated that Kirk had no qualms whatsoever about taking the step from flirting to sexual intercourse if he felt so inclined. Yet, he didn't seem inclined to take that step with Spock, despite the fact that Spock had indicated his own interest in the possibility. 

And Spock could not figure out the reason for this. They had already established that Kirk had very little scruples about indulging physical desire, and there was nothing in his regulations that would keep him from indulging with a crew member. In fact, Spock was reasonably certain that Kirk had had sex with Uhura, at the very least. 

And it wasn't that Kirk wasn't attracted to him. Spock had paid close attention for the last few days, and pupil dilation, breathing patterns and body language all indicated that Kirk felt sexual interest when in Spock's company. 

As he was unable to discern the reason for the captain's reluctance from observation alone, Spock decided that a different method of gathering data was called for, and went to find the captain. Their schedules overlapped in such a way right now that they both had several hours of free time, should Spock's new approach be successful and allow him to dispel whatever was causing the captain's uncharacteristic inhibition– something which Spock would very much like to do.

***

“Captain.”  
The voice wrapped around him, dark and honey-sweet, and Jim shivered, just a little. He turned from the window to find Spock behind him, just far enough away to be polite, just close enough to be intimate, head tilted a fraction and intense gaze fixed on Jim.

His heart picked up and Jim's mouth literally watered as desire flooded him, a heady rush he always experienced around Spock these days. Jim was usually better at shaking off an attraction when for one reason or another he'd decided not to go through with it, but Spock sent something in him into a tail-spin– Jim suspected it was his good sense. 

But how could anyone blame him, really? Spock was so hot it was unfair! Every tall, broad-shouldered, leather-clad inch of him, and he moved like a cat, lethal grace in every controlled motion, and then there was the _focus_ , like Jim was the only thing in existence for him whenever Spock looked at him. It was intoxicating, was what it was, and if the universe had decided to embody temptation then to Jim, it was Spock. It didn't help at all that Spock had made it quite clear that he'd be more than happy to accommodate Jim's curiosity. 

“Spock,” Jim replied and smiled, since he didn't want to give Spock the impression that he wasn't happy to see him, for all the... inconvenient urges he caused. 

Spock answered the smile with one of his own, subtle ones, and said, comfortably: “I've come to ask why you seem reluctant to have intercourse with me.”

Jim blinked, then blinked again, and had to clear his throat. For all their flirting, heavy as it had been, Jim hadn't expected _this_. “Wow. Er... that's direct,” he said, a little helplessly. 

Spock shrugged, a minimal lift and fall of his shoulders, still pinning him with those dark, inscrutable eyes. “All the data I have gathered indicates that this reluctance is highly atypical for you.”

Jim laughed a little, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “True enough,” he admitted ruefully. 

“Then I admit I am puzzled. You are attracted to me, are you not?”

“I am.” Jim sighed, and took his eyes off of Spock to move over to the couch. He took a seat and patted the cushion next to him to invite Spock to join him. 

Spock stalked over and took the indicated seat, body tilted towards Jim, hands folded in his lap, eyebrows raised attentively. How he could be both lethal and adorable at the same time, Jim didn't know. 

With another sigh, he decided to come right out with it. “Look, don't take this the wrong way, it's just that I don't really know you all that well.”

Spock cocked his head. “It is an issue of trust, then?”

Jim sighed, and nodded. “I like you, I do,” he hastened to assure him, “it's just that we both know you outweigh me by at least fifty percent and have double, if not triple my physical strength.”

“That is true,” Spock agreed, and didn't seem offended by Jim's concerns, to his relief. “However, I have no intention of causing you harm.”

“And I believe you,” Jim said, and sighed again. “Otherwise I wouldn't have hired you. It's just... look, working with you is one thing, and you seem perfectly sane, but there's just a part of me that's a bit wary of getting naked with a Romulan. No offence.” Jim suspected that he was giving Spock his best puppy-dog eyes, but he really didn't want to offend Spock, and he really didn't want to come across as a speciest asshole. 

Spock, to his relief, just smiled. Although there was something decidedly sly about the smile. 

“You assume I am Romulan.” 

It wasn't quite a question, but not quite a statement, either, so Jim felt compelled to reply. “Well, yeah.”

“A common misconception. I am not.”

Jim couldn't help a puzzled frown. “You're not Vulcan.”

“No,” Spock agreed peaceably, though the smile widened a fraction. Spock was _enjoying_ this. 

Jim tossed his head in frustration when Spock didn't continue. “Then what _are_ you? Is there a third vulcanoid race I don't know about?”

Spock chuckled, and apparently decided to have mercy on him. “There is not. I am, in fact, half-Vulcan. My mother was human, however.”

Spock was... half-human? And half-Vulcan? Jim couldn't help but give him a quick once-over, trying to see if he could find any hints of that human heritage in Spock's appearance with this new information, but Spock looked as vulcanoid as he ever had. Not that humans and Vulcans (or Romulans) were that dissimilar at first glance, but still. 

“Vulcans and humans are genetically compatible?”

Spock gave another shrug. “With some medical assistance, yes.” He raised that eyebrow of his. “And does this information change your stance towards our potential... liaison?” 

Jim sighed, scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He looked up at Spock through his lashes, gave him a half-smile. “If I said yes, would I sound like a speciest jerk?” 

Spock tilted his head slightly. “As Romulans who have become separate from the Empire are rarely known to be psychologically stable, I believe your concerns are, in this case, logical rather than based on a perceived prejudice.” Then Spock gave him that sly little smirk of his. “Indeed, in light of the data you have provided about your sexual proclivities, I believe you are rather less speciest than the average sentient being.”

Jim chuckled. “Might be that's so.”

Spock raised his eyebrows suggestively– very, very suggestively.

“So what about previously unknown hybrids? Are you psychologically stable, Mr Spock?”

“Vulcans, having dedicated themselves to logic, do not suffer the vagaries of uncontrolled emotion Romulans in exile are prone to.”

“ _Vulcans_ are pacifists,” Jim pointed out. “Something which you're decidedly _not_. And humans can be vicious with the best of them. Is that where you get it from?”

Spock did that contemplative head-tilt again. “It is difficult for me to tell with any accuracy, as I lack further specimens of my particular make-up for comparison, but I don't believe the aggressive traits in my nature stem solely from either side of my heritage. I have found myself to be quite emotionally stable, however.” For a moment, his eyes went distant. “Surprisingly so, actually, quite contrary to many Vulcan Elders' speculation.”

It was probably weird, but Spock's methodical way of talking did _things_ to Jim. He was just so fucking smart, on top of being hot and strong and dangerous. 

Spock's dark, dark eyes returned to him, flicked over him, over his neck where his pulse was jumping, his mouth, which Jim realized was parted, up to meet his eyes, with his no doubt dilated pupils. Spock leaned forward a fraction, lifted one hand from his lap to slowly, deliberately, place it on Jim's thigh, above his knee, thumb millimetres above the soft, sensitive, vulnerable, intimate inside. Jim went hard– instantly. Rational thought became proportionally more difficult to come by. Spock's hand was heavy, large, long-fingered, and cooler than Jim had instinctively expected. 

“Fuck it,” Jim growled roughly, grabbed the back of Spock's head, his fingers sliding into short, smooth hair, and hauled Spock in for a kiss, tilted his head to fit their mouths together, his own already open in invitation. 

Spock didn't need to be asked twice. His tongue plunged into Jim's mouth as he met the kiss with equal pressure and Jim moaned, rose on his knees to shift closer, braced himself against one of Spock's broad shoulders. Spock's hand left his leg and instead an arm wrapped around him, the other hand came up to mirror his hold on the back of Spock's head, and then Jim was on Spock's lap, strong cool fingers digging into his scalp, slick cool synleather under his hand, an arm like a band of steel around his back, and Spock's lips hungrily feasting on his, tongue dipping into his mouth, shamelessly fucking it. It wasn't like kissing a human. The taste was different, just slightly, subtly, impossible to describe, just some chemicals his senses could pick up that didn't occur in humans. Spock's tongue was drier, too, and rougher, than a human one would be. His body was cooler, and stronger, felt more solid– denser bone and muscle mass from heavier gravity, Jim knew. 

It was brilliant. 

Spock's hand dropped to his ass, gripped. Jim grunted, spread his legs wider and rutted against Spock's stomach. Spock's hand went even lower, groped him between the legs, and Jim whimpered. He needed to be naked– right the fuck _now_. 

With that thought in what was left of his mind, he wriggled his free hand in between their bodies and started to pop the buttons on his jeans. Spock got with the program right quick and shifted them, without obvious strain or interrupting the kiss, until Jim was on his back on the couch, Spock on one knee between his legs. 

Then Spock pulled out of the kiss, left Jim gasping and leaning up after him on pure instinct. When Jim's eyes found him he was sat back on his heels, a large, broad-shouldered black silhouette looming over Jim in the dim light of the observation deck and the faint glow of warp space outside the window. His dark eyes rested on Jim's face, hooded, and then his large hands closed around the top of Jim's jeans and yanked them down, down far enough to leave him exposed to the air of the observation deck, cool on his over-heated skin, exposed to Spock's hungry eyes, down far enough to get tangled in Jim's boots– where Spock left them, merely shifted so he was kneeling between Jim's bare knees, the mess around Jim's feet behind him. Jim tried for a moment to kick them off, but that wasn't happening without him taking off his boots, and Spock was already leaning forwards again, placed those large hands on Jim's stomach and started to slide his t-shirt up his chest– firm pressure, slowly, erotically. Jim curved his spine enough to be helpful, then raised his arms. Spock lifted, pulled the fabric over Jim's head. And then he stopped when it reached Jim's wrists, twisted one hand into it to hold Jim's arms to the cushion above his head while the fingers of his other curved around Jim's chin to hold him in place as he kissed him again, deep and filthy. Jim moaned and keened and kicked a frustratingly confined leg in pure reaction and almost came on the spot. 

He was panting like an animal when Spock pulled out of the kiss again. Spock told him to keep his arms where they were with a warning flick of his eyes and then scooted down to deep-throat him in one smooth motion. Jim shouted and _would_ have come on the spot if Spock hadn't wrapped a knowing hand around the base of his cock and squeezed firmly. As it was, he had an extremely hard (heh, what a pun!) time keeping a rapidly fraying semblance of control over himself as Spock mercilessly sucked, and licked, and just plain old _teased_ with that rough, dry tongue of his. 

It occurred to him, vaguely, that maybe he should worry about the improvised bondage he found himself in, but he could get his hands free of the t-shirt easily enough now if he felt like it, and his knives were still in the tops of his boots, and while Spock was being deliciously dominating, he was doing so in a passionate but perfectly controlled way, and, while firm, none of the touches of those strong hands came even anywhere near painful. 

Spock took him right down his throat again, nose in Jim's pubic hair, and Jim heard himself make choked, needy little whimpering noises and his brain was melting and it felt really far too good to worry about anything but coming for the next little while. 

Then Spock shoved two fingers into Jim's open mouth, and when Jim sucked, Spock... growled around his erection. It wasn't a moan, it was definitely a growl, a feral, turned-on growl, and the sound vibrated right through Jim's dick and balls and he'd swear even hit his prostate, at least it felt that way, like it made every nerve ending and erogenous spot on his body jump and shiver in sympathy. Jim sucked again, and then brought his tongue into play, and Spock made that noise again, backed off a little to suck Jim in retaliation. 

Sensitive fingers, Jim catalogued, absently, and went to town with everything he had ever learned about using his mouth for something other than smart-ass remarks– and he'd learned quite a lot, if he did say so himself. 

Apparently, Spock agreed. At least, he lost some of that careful control, the blow-job turning sloppier, the fingers Spock had at his hip digging in hard enough to bruise, the ones in Jim's mouth starting to thrust, like he couldn't help himself, like Jim was pushing his buttons as much as he was pushing Jim's. Only fair, Jim thought, hazy and gratified and deliriously turned-on. 

He would've come, was so close to hitting that point of no return, when Spock pulled his mouth of off his cock. If he'd had the air for it, and wasn't too busy fellating Spock's fingers, Jim would've had something to say about that, but Spock started to lick and nuzzle his way back up Jim's body, with a nip of sharp teeth here and there, to Jim's stomach and side and right nipple and collarbone and straining throat. Not a pacifist Vulcan, no, definitely not. 

Then, looming over Jim, he pulled his fingers away to replace them with his tongue. Jim moaned his approval, and those slick digits started working their way into his ass instead. 

Jim ripped one hand free of the t-shirt and fisted it into the lapels of Spock's jacket instead ( _Fuuuck_ , he was still _dressed_!) and used that hold to lever himself up, arched to get closer to Spock's body and get his ass in the air to demonstrate his approval. His boot heels scrabbled against the sofa cushion as he tried to get traction to hold himself up and open for Spock's convenience, but his feet were too tangled up and some part of Spock was weighing down the middle of the fabric between his legs. But he'd given Spock enough room to get an arm under Jim's waist, and that took care of that, and now all Jim had to do was spread his legs as best he could and enjoy. Which he did. Immensely, and vocally. For about a minute, then he ripped his mouth away from Spock's to pant: “Fuck, fuck me already!”Alright, so that probably wasn't his best piece of rhetoric ever, but it got the point across, and he really needed Spock's cock up his ass, right the fuck _now_ , ASAP, yesterday, the sooner the better. 

“Lubricant?” Spock asked hoarsely. “Do you have any?”

Who _cares_ , Jim almost said, but he didn't know exactly how hung Spock was, and while he'd been in worse situations, maybe it'd be a little awkward to introduce himself to his new doctor by needing his ass regenerated after doing the man's friend. Especially when all he had to sacrifice were a few seconds. Long seconds, but still. 

“My pants,” he panted at Spock. “Left pocket. Lube 'n condom.” What, so he was prepared for these sorts of situations. 

Spock didn't even raise an eyebrow, just sat back a little to dig for the pocket and its contents around Jim's calf. Jim shook the t-shirt off his other wrist, and pushed up on his elbows to watch. 

Spock _was_ still dressed. Fully dressed, not even his pants undone. And while that was hot as hell, all that gorgeous black leather against Jim's naked skin, all that protective severity to contrast with Jim's state of debauched almost-nudity, it wasn't very conducive to Jim getting fucked with as little delay as humanly possible. So he reached out with one hand and found the zipper, pulled it down over the bulge of Spock's erection. How the man had refrained from freeing himself so far was beyond Jim, but as he looked up into Spock's face he saw those dark eyes shutter to half-mast, lips part, and Spock gave a low grunt as he thrust his hips into Jim's grip when Jim wrapped his hand around him. Jim looked down again at what he was doing and licked his lips. Oh yeah, Spock _was_ hung. Very nice. He couldn't spot any obvious physiological differences, except maybe the colouring was a little off, a little darker than he expected. Green blood, right? He'd have to investigate that in more detail some other time, in better light. 

For now, he plucked the condom out of Spock's fingers, broke the seal (long live Duraxes' Eazyzlide condoms), and got Spock covered in about half a second flat. Well, practise did make perfect. Spock tensed and did that growl again when Jim's fingers slid down his cock, and would obviously need far too many moments to get the lube applied, so Jim pulled that from his tight grip as well and helped out. And he'd barely done so when Spock pushed him flat with one hand to Jim's chest, hooked the other under Jim's knee to lift and spread, and Jim turned into a pile of eager, mewling putty under him when that broad, blunt head found him and started to push. 

"God, yes, come on...!" He was babbling, but it was so good, the burn and stretch and hard fullness of it, and, God, the feel of Spock's still leather-clad thighs against his bare ass, and the weight and strength of him between Jim's naked legs, and his broad, dark form over him... and then Jim wrapped his legs, trousers and boots and all, around Spock's waist and Spock's hands clamped down on his hips, and he started to _move_ , strong, deep, implacable thrusts, and Jim made an incoherent and undignified noise the first time Spock hit his prostate _just_ right– and apparently that was all the instruction in the art of fucking Jim Spock needed, because _every single one_ after that hit with perfect precision, until Jim was squirming and writhing and moaning and shouting with it, and it was so damn good, Jim was pretty much delirious with how good it was, and he'd had good sex before, damn good sex, but this, this was the best fucking sex he'd ever had, and he wished it'd never end, but he needed to come, kinda urgently, and he tried to hold on, but there were sparks shooting all through his nervous system and into his dick, and the tension was coiling, and Spock was staring at him with his black eyes, _daring_ him, starlight outlining the tips of his ears and catching silver and blue in his black hair and curling around those strong cheekbones and the long line of his jaw and over those perfect lips, and his fingers were digging into Jim's hips hard enough to bruise, not hard enough to injure, and he was magnificent and Jim was coming. 

Spock moaned, rammed himself deep, and came as well while Jim was still arching and tensing and fireworks rushed down his spine and exploded behind his eyes.

***

Sprawled out on his back on the couch, limbs heavy and sore in all the right places, Jim heaved in a good few heavy breaths, then started laughing.

“That,” he told Spock, who'd sat back on his heels between Jim's legs, “was brilliant.” He grinned broadly. “Also, Uhura's going to kill me.”

Spock raised an eyebrow, and managed to look all put together already even while tying off a condom. “I had not intended to cause any jealousy.”

Jim laughed again, deep and heartfelt. “God, no! No, I'm just not supposed to have sex on the couch.”

“Will not the cleaning robots remove all traces of potential contaminants?”

Jim sat up to hunt around for his t-shirt while Spock did his pants up. “Sure.” He threw Spock another grin. “She still thinks it's gross.”

Spock made a thoughtful sound and stood up so Jim could pull his jeans and underwear back up. “Illogical,” he observed tolerantly while he watched Jim arch and wriggle. 

“Yep,” Jim agreed, jumped to his feet, and pulled the little silver cleaning bot out from behind the couch. “But what she doesn't know...” He flicked it on and set it down on the cushion to go about its business, then turned back to Spock, who stood as close as he had when this had started, conveniently just within arm's reach, his attention fixed on Jim. 

“I've another two hours before I'm on shift,” Jim told him with his best suggestive look (which was pretty damn suggestive, if experience served.)

Spock smirked in his subtle way. “I am aware.”

“Ha! You planned this!” Jim accused him while fighting back another giddy grin. Fuck, he felt good.

“It was the desired outcome of my seeking you out, yes,” Spock agreed, and Jim did grin then. He grabbed Spock's wrist, and started towing him out of the room. 

“Come on. I have a bed I need to introduce you to.”


End file.
